Hard Facts, Simple Truths
by Triscribe
Summary: On an organic Cybertron, the War between the Autobot Army and Decepticon Imperials rages on. Six young recruits, headed up by Hank Veer, are about to become immersed in it, and discover that in addition to the world not being anything resembling black and white, it's full of hard facts off set by simple truths...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Fraggin's Primus on a pogo-stick, this thing really is a monster. I've typed up almost fifty pages of text for it so far and have barely gotten to Chapter Four! As that's the case, expect no more than an update or two per month, because I seriously cannot handle working on a single project at once for the bare minimum amount of time it's going to take me to finish this thing._

 _That said, this story is a mix of various continuities, being mainly G1 with bits of Prime and Animated thrown in for posterity, all humanized for the sake of my drawing hand. There are already a couple of sequels in the works, a collection of accompanying short stories being worked on, and portraits of over two thirds of the character cast posted to my DeviantArt page, where I go by the same username if you want to take a look._

 _In no way official, but this is how I use 'em in this:_

 _Klik (Second)_

 _Breem (Minute) 100 kliks_

 _Joor (Hour) 60 breems_

 _Orn (Day) 30 joors - 15 for a day cycle, 15 for a night cycle_

 _Deca-orn (Week) 10 orns_

 _Groon (Month) 3 deca-orns/30 orns_

 _Vorn (Year) 14 groons/42 decaorns/420 orns_

 _And finally, please enjoy the first of my tales of an organic Cybertron. Those who actually make it all the way to the end will be welcomed with open arms, and the readers who successfully guess who each or any of the New Recruits are before they receive their assigned codenames in the next chapter will get a sneak peek! Have fun reading!_

 _-Triscribe_

Chapter 1 - Prologue to Adventure

Ducking another round of gunfire, Hank Veer cursed his stupidity for the millionth time that orn. His mother had been telling him for vorns that the young man was going to take a step too far one day, and tumble right off the edge of a cliff, literally or otherwise.

Now, he knew her words to be absolutely true.

Just the previous evening, he'd still been washing dishes in his mother's roadside eatery, desperately keeping his ears open for news of the War. At twenty vorns old, Hank had as much of a social life as was possible in the tiny settlement of Hillitrex - which was to say, none at all. So, rather than go out after the dinner hours to try and scrounge up something fun to do, he spent most evenings in the eatery, catching snippets of conversation between the travellers who stepped in for a quick meal. This far into the Prianti Mountains, the most they ever heard of the War between the Autobot Army and Decepticon Imperialists was who had won a recent victory, who was on another recruitment drive, and which city states were no longer safe to inhabit as battle raged through them. And all of that information was filtered from those fleeing the destruction - merchants trying to maintain their businesses, couriers hurrying towards distant outposts, or refugees whose homes had recently been destroyed.

In recent vorns, that latter category had seen more and more people counted within it, hardening Hank's heart against the Decepticons who caused the most devastating losses to civilian populations. Much as he would have liked to leave home and go do something about it, his mother always cautioned him about seeking out trouble; someone with his luck always had enough come to them on its own.

And last night, she had finally been proven right after all.

Just as Hank had been piling up the dirty dishes from a table at the rear of the room, a young man wearing green leather clothing that had seen better days ducked in the entrance. He ignored Mrs. Veer's welcome, not pausing as he snatched a menu pad from her hands and went straight to the booth in the most shadowy corner of the eatery. Curiosity overwhelming his sense of foreboding, Hank stepped over to him.

"Um, you okay there, buddy?" He asked cautiously. The dark-skinned youth glanced up from where he was pretending to scan over the menu, eyes nervously darting over to the front door and back.

"Can you make like you're taking my order, and that I've been here a while?" He hissed in a desperate tone. Blinking in confusion, Hank didn't even have time to ask why before the door was slammed open once again.

He was able to puzzle out an answer to the stranger's request when five heavily armored and thoroughly intimidating people stomped in.

"So, that's the Hexian sausages, with a double side order of Trax potatoes?" Hank said, grabbing his small datapad and swiftly tapping out some random words. The young man before him nodded, eyes expressing relief and gratitude. "Okay, that'll be right out." As Hank turned to head for the kitchen door, he watched as his mother nervously seated the group of newcomers, even as several other people in the room glanced over and prepared to leave.

Hank didn't blame them. The purple Decepticon sigil, prominently displayed on the scarred armor, was enough of a deterrent for anyone. He himself, though, just felt growing anger, especially as he saw how terrified the newcomers were making his middle-aged mother.

A few moments later, she joined him in the kitchen, and Hank wrapped her in a tight hug. He'd been a full foot taller than his mother for the last four vorns, and now tucked his chin over the top of her head.

"Why are they here?" Hanna Veer gasped out, her hands grasping the back of her son's orange vest. "Their kind have never come this far into the mountains before."

"I don't know, Mom." He replied, eyes trained on the door. "I'll handle taking their food over, though. You just look after everyone else, okay?" Composing herself, Mrs. Veer quickly agreed, and the two of them swapped the orders on their datapads before taking the lot to their cook. Hank quickly informed the man of what was going on out front, causing him to grow pale and swallow nervously.

"You said that young feller came in lookin' scared just before they did?"

"Yeah. I think he was running from them."

The elderly cook frowned. "Best see about getting that lad out of here quickly then, but not so obviously that they single him out."

"Or us either." Mrs. Veer added. Hank nodded to both of them, accepting the platters that held the Decepticons' meal orders and drinks. Steeling himself, the twenty vorn old used his shoulder to push open the door, and strode out with a brave face.

He froze upon seeing that all five Cons had left their table to surround the young man who'd run in just before them.

"...It's simple, kid." The tallest of them was demanding, halfway leaning over the still seated youth. "Did you come here from the north or the south?"

"And I'll ask again, what's it to you?" He responded calmly, hands folded in front of him. Two of the Decepticons had sat down on the booth's other bench, while the remaining pair stood directly behind the young man as the leader bent down to look him right in the eye.

"Cheeky fragger, aren't ya?" He snarled.

"Some of the time, yes."

"Hey, Onslaught, lookie here!" The woman standing behind the booth suddenly snatched something from the youth's neck, eliciting a yelp as his head was forced upward.

Hank felt his insides shrivel at the leader's next words: "Well, well, well! Guess we've found ourselves a Roamer."

Once a staple of Cybertronian society, Roamers had been large, extended families travelling around the world in their brightly colored caravans, exchanging goods and services at all the city states, and spreading important news to backwater towns that didn't have Hubs connected to the Global Communications System. In the last couple decades, though, they and other non-city dwellers had come under attack by the Decepticon Imperialists - first through hateful propaganda that turned numerous Cybertronians against them, and then actual bombardment when the War began in earnest. Very few of their caravans remained, with members of the formerly close-knit family clans scattered around the planet, seeking refuge wherever they could.

With this one so undoubtedly identified by his caravan's pendant, Hank knew the Roamer was looking at a gruesome execution if he didn't escape these Decepticons right away.

It only took him a few kliks to close the distance from the kitchen door to the oblivious Cons, and one more after that to hurl the platters he carried at them. Yelping in surprise and pain at the sudden barrage of dishes and foodstuffs, all five Decepticons leapt up and away, giving the Roamer the chance he needed to spring to his feet and take off out the front door.

For one glorious moment, Hank felt the thrill of victory - and then the Con leader's gaze locked onto his own with murderous intent. Suddenly, Hank lost any desire he might have had to know why the man was called "Onslaught."

The laser fire and plasma blasts started flying as he too bolted towards the door, and were all the encouragement Hank needed to speed up his steps. Outside, the night cycle had long since descended, leaving his surroundings in near darkness - but by the light of the moons and stars and his own memories, he was able to hurry on a convoluted path through the closely clustered buildings that made up Hillitrex. The screams of panicked civilians and enraged shouts of the Decepticons behind him slowly faded away, leaving only Hank's labored breathing as he hurried through the settlement, taking numerous twists and turns until he ended up at the edge of the forest that covered the lower slopes of the Prianti mountain range.

Rather unfortunately, he ran smack dab into someone else practically the instant he lurched into the shadows of the trees.

"Ow!" That someone yelled, and the voice alone was enough for Hank to identify him.

" _You-!"_ He grabbed the front of a leather coat, and even if the night was dark enough they could barely see each other's faces, Hank knew the dark skinned stranger could tell how torqued off he was. "What were you thinking, coming into our place and sitting down like that?!"

"Well what was I supposed to do?" The other man protested weakly, attempting to take a step back but unable to pull himself out of Hank's white-knuckled grip. "They were about to catch up to me anyway - I needed to someplace to hide!"

"You could have come in our front door and gone straight out the back again! Or done the same thing at any other place on the street! Primus, do you realize how much trouble I'm in now?"

"How much _you're_ in? I'm the one they're trying to kill on sight!"

"And now I'm in the same boat! Slag, do you even realize they might burn down my mom's business now?"

"Hey, I never asked you to help me, so _don't_ go pinning the blame for this on me - I've had enough of being a scapegoat to last me a lifetime." The two glared at each other as best they could, before Hank finally sighed and released his grip.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I just... I didn't think back there, and now I can't help but picture all the horrible ways this could go, because I was a stupid idiot again."

The stranger rubbed the back of his head, expression sheepish. "Well... You did technically save my life, so it wasn't all that stupid. Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome, I guess." Hank mumbled, sinking down to sit with his back against a tree trunk. "...What in the Pit am I supposed to do now?"

It took a few moments, but the other man stepped over and took a seat beside him. The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the subdued movements of wildlife through the vegetation around them, and the distant, lingering noises of civilization from the inhabitants of Hillitrex.

"My name's Spencer Ringer." Hank glanced over, and by a dim shaft of moonlight was able to pick up the silhouette of his new companion's face. He was looking down, poking at a few leaves with a twig. "I was on my way north when I ran into those Cons and got on their bad side. You're welcome to come with me if, you think you can't go back to your home safely."

"Why? What's up north?"

A ghost of a smile graced Spencer's lips. "Iacon, for one thing. And the secret headquarters of the Autobots, for another."

Hank stared. He blinked. He blinked again, and continued staring. Then, a grin of his own appeared, spreading until it made his face hurt. "Dude, I am _so_ in."

-HF-ST-

In hindsight, Hank had acted without thinking. Again. When dawn broke, he and Spencer had clambered down from the tree where they'd spent the night cycle in fitful sleep, eager to get started. The latter still had his knapsack with several orns worth of food contained within, but Hank still needed to snag some of his own things from home.

The two of them managed to work their way back around town towards the eatery, which was thankfully still standing. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, Hank took a running start and jumped up to grasp the bottom of the second story balcony. He pulled himself up and quickly ducked in through the sliding door to his bedroom. Within a few breems, he had pulled out a messenger bag and filled it with several spare changes of clothes, a few datapads with useful things downloaded into them like maps and camping guides, and his private stash of late night snacks.

Then, he made his first idiotic decision of the morning. Deciding that leaving a note for his mother to find was too impersonal, Hank silently exited the room and made his way downstairs to the eatery. He'd planned just to briefly explain where he was going, hug her and take off again, but as usual, things didn't go according to plan. Hank's first clue that something was wrong came in the form of several loud voices in the kitchen.

Knowing full well that no townspeople would be up and visiting this early, the youth slowed his pace, creeping down the short hall and peering around the doorway. What he saw made his blood boil.

All five of the Decepticon bullies had invaded the pantry and refrigeration unit, helping themselves to most of the food and leaving the rest out to spoil. Mrs. Veer was standing off to one side, wringing her hands anxiously as the supplies meant to last them a further few deca-orns vanished down greedy gullets. The Cons took no notice of her or the mess they were making, merely enjoying gorging themselves.

As Hank pulled back, he had to forcibly make himself resist running in there and causing a repeat of the night before. Trying to find something to distract himself with, the young man's eyes came upon five travel packs lying haphazardly against the wall, an assortment of weapons attached to each: three plasma cannons, four mid-size blasters, two shock gauntlets, and half a dozen energon blades of varying sizes.

A wicked grin snuck its way onto his face as an idea took hold.

Meanwhile, waiting outside was driving Spencer's nerves to the edge of their limits. The last three orns of fleeing from this group of Cons, and numerous others for the groon before that, had worn most of his usual patience away. Now, while he would be glad to have someone else to travel and be on guard with, Spencer was convinced that the longer his new friend took, the more likely it was they would be caught and killed.

So when a small hand tapped him from behind, the Roamer had to muffle a scream as he whirled around in panic. A curly haired boy holding a fishing pole was looking up at him with confusion and curiosity.

"Ah, geez kid, don't sneak up on people like that!" Spencer whisper-yelled, trying to slow his racing pulse.

"Are you waiting for Hank too?" The boy asked, head tilting to one side slightly.

"Um... Yes?"

"Does that mean you're coming fishing with us? You're going to have to borrow Hank's rod, then."

"Uh, no, no I'm not - and he's not either. Listen, kid, there's a bunch of Decepticons around here somewhere, and as soon as Hank comes out, he and I are leaving this town-"

"There's more Cons? Like the ones in Ma'am Veer's store?"

"...What?"

It was just then that the back door was knocked open, and Hank hurtled out of it, making a beeline for Spencer's position. He had one bag bouncing behind him with its strap slung across his chest, and two more ragged-looking ones fit to burst clutched in his arms.

Spencer felt like groaning. "Dude, don't you know the meaning of 'travel light'?"

"No time - and these aren't mine!" He gasped, skidding to a halt beside them and ducking behind the corner of the building behind his mom's eatery. "Oh, hi Daniel. Sorry, I can't make it to the fishing trip today."

"I know. He said so."

"Yeah, I'm sorry - hey, have you sent that letter to your dad yet?"

"No. Mom wanted to put it with a care package."

"Good! Can you tell him that me and a Roamer are leaving Hillitrex, and see if he'll arrange a letter of introduction with the Autobots for us?" The kid's eyes grew really wide, and he grinned up at the young man, nodding vigorously. "Great. I dunno when we'll see each other again, but thanks for being a good friend Daniel."

"You're welcome Hank! And be careful! Say hi to Dad for me if you see him!" Daniel wrapped his short arms around Hank awkwardly in a quick hug, then took off down the dirt path behind the buildings with his fishing pole bouncing cheerfully.

"...What was that about?" Spencer finally asked.

"Huh? Oh, Daniel's dad Sam Witwicky works as a courier for the Autobot Army - I haven't seen him in vorns, but if he passed along a voucher for us, we could probably skip all that preliminary interview stuff or whatever it is those guys do to avoid spies getting in their ranks."

"That... That's a surprisingly smart thing for you to do, Veer. So, what all's in the bags?" Hank dropped one into his arms, and opened it to reveal the bulky and crammed-in weaponry. "...I spoke too soon. You're an idiot."

"Are you kidding? Those Decepti-creeps are way less dangerous without these!"

A sudden burst of blaster fire just over their heads caused both young men to flinch and drop to the ground. In the face of the torqued off Decepticon lady wielding a wide barrelled cannon and standing in the back doorway of the Veer eatery, Spencer turned his glare onto Hank. "And it never occurred to you that they might be carrying extras?"

"Hurry, Onslaught! Swindle! Blast Off! Vortex! The punks are back here!" The Con yelled back through the open door, prompting Hank and Spencer to scramble to their feet and start running.

"Remind me to kill you for this later!" The Roamer berated him as they raced back towards the treeline.

"Less complaining, more fleeing!"

The two of them continued ducking and dodging the gunfire, Hank cursing himself for being so short-sighted again. Things were hardly any better once they entered the forest - the fleeing youths had to drop their speed to avoid crashing, while three of the Decepticons continued after them, firing all the while.

Then there was a turn for the worst - Hank picked up the distinctive sound of a helicopter approaching, and realized the other two Cons must have gone to get their vehicles.

"We are so slagged." He moaned.

"Not just yet!" Spencer grabbed his arm and dragged the other out of a round of blaster fire, leading him towards what looked to be a mound of green bushes. With a sudden burst of strength, the Roamer leapt upward, hauling Hank with him to land squarely in the leafy pile.

Or rather... To land on the green vehicle hidden by the leafy pile.

"You're going to want to hold on now." Spencer informed his companion as he dropped into an open driver's cockpit, throwing pieces of shrubs and branches out of his way. Hank managed to find a handlebar to grip just as the vehicle was turned on, and launched forward with an exhilarating burst of power.

"Waaaa-hooooo!" Spencer howled, steering his truck along some unseen pathway through the trees, avoiding both the natural obstacles and the barrage of plasma fire coming down from the copter above. Holding on for dear life, Hank yelled right along with him, alternating between utter terror and pure exhilaration.

At one point, when they zoomed through a small clearing, he managed to pull out one of the stolen blasters and fire wildly into the air. Somehow, someway, on of his shots collided with the rear propeller of the Decepticon above them, sending the dark grey and blue copter spiralling.

"Holy Primus," Hank breathed in awe of his newfound skill. "Hey! Spencer! Did you see?! I actually managed to- WHOA!" With the sudden slamming of the brakes, Hank found himself propelled forward, landing awkwardly in the cockpit beside the driver's seat. Spencer was glaring ahead of them, where a massive, Primus-forsaken _tank_ was pushing through the trees towards them, the Decepticon sigil prominently displayed on its battle scarred hood.

"I think you were right before." Hank chose to say after a moment, wincing from his new uncomfortable position. " _Now_ is when we are so slagged."

"In most cases, I'd agree with you." The Roamer said dryly as his hand hovered over a red switch on the dashboard. "But this happens to be my grandmother's truck."

Hank was about to ask why that made a difference when the tank ahead of them lowered its front cannon and opened fire. Mere kliks before the artillery shell reached them, Spencer flipped the switch.

Inside his armored vehicle, the man called Onslaught by his allies and enemies alike smiled with grim satisfaction as the Roamer's green and yellow truck exploded, various pieces hurled upwards and outwards.

"Got 'em." He said into his team's comm frequency. "That'll teach the punks to mess with our outfit - if there's anything left of them, that is." The Combaticons shared a cheer, even Vortex, who was attempting to jerry-rig her helicopter's busted propeller in order to fly it out of the trees.

"Swindle, Brawl, Blast Off, go get your trucks and we'll head on out." Onslaught ordered. "V, can ya get the chopper up and running or do I need to come haul your sorry aft outta here?"

Over Vortex's grumbled curses, the others were complaining about not getting to return to the town and blow some of it up. "Think of all the goods we could get!" Swindle in particular begged.

"No deal, we need to report back to Hivus City on the double. Chasing down that Roamer brat took long enough already, I don't want us wasting any more time." Slowly but surely, he browbeat his teammates into loading up and driving or flying out.

Onslaught never did think to check to see where some of the green truck's pieces ended up.

-HF-ST-

"Think we can get down yet?" Hank asked again. Peering down at the forest floor, Spencer strained all his senses, but couldn't find anything to indicate that the Decepticons were still hanging around.

"I think so." He said cautiously. "But we might want to take it slow and-"

With a whoop, Hank slid down the tree at full speed, rolling when he reached the ground and then popping back up to his feet. "C'mon, Spence!"

"-quiet." Spencer finished. He sighed, taking a moment to grab his own bag and the remaining one of stolen weaponry before joining his companion. The two of them observed the blackened and warped pieces of Spencer's vehicle that were strewn around the area, each grateful for the device beneath the driver's seat that had launched the both of them up and into the tree tops.

"I'm sorry you had to sacrifice your truck." Hank offered, a few silent moments later.

"Thanks." Spencer returned in a subdued tone. Many times as a kid he'd asked for his grandmother to demonstrate that particular safety feature, and her response had always been that they should keep it a secret as long as possible, the better to surprise whoever they'd have to use it to get away from. He briefly wished she'd been able to see her sneakiness pay off in such a spectacular manner, but then shook those thoughts away. It was his choice to have left the family behind - longing to see them again at this point would only break his heart further.

"So, I guess this means we have a full few days of walking ahead of us, huh?" Hank joked, nudging the Roamer with his elbow.

"Yep." Spencer forced himself to grin. "At least it'll be more interesting now, with someone else to commiserate with over the aching feet and bug bites."

"...I really wish you hadn't brought those up."

"Tough. It's my revenge for you filching those stupid weapons."

"Hmph. Guess I can't complain about that, then." Spencer snorted at him. "So, any idea what route we're going or how long it'll take?"

In answer, the Roamer pulled out his map, unfolding the pliable plastic sheeting. "I had been going to take the northern road up from Hillitrex, then follow the old Praxian highway to the east. Now, though, I think it's be smarter to stay off the paved roads, and cut through these valleys towards Iacon, which should be about five orns, give or take. We might have to do some crosswise travel, and there's always the chance we'll have to backtrack if there's an obstacle we can't go over or around, but the further into the mountains we get the less risk there is of running into Decepticons."

"Sounds good to me!" Hank hoisted up his bags as Spencer refolded the map. "Which way?"

Rolling his eyes, Spencer pointed in the direction that the sun was rising from, and his companion set off with a purposeful stride that it took a few kliks for the Roamer to catch up with.

They hiked up the forested foothills for the rest of that orn, making camp shortly after sunset beside a creek and spending the night cycle sleeping in a tree again. When morning hit, Hank woke up more sore than he could recall being in vorns. His feet, his knees, his lower back - anything and everything ached. He made sure to say so to Spencer continuously for the following joor, thoroughly annoying the Roamer and forcing him to upend one of their water containers over Hank's head.

After Hank dried off and they both ate, the pair started walking again. They'd gotten into the mountains proper by that point, making progress over and around ridgelines that began to lose the thick tree cover. Grass stalks became thicker while bushes shrank into shrubs, and the wildlife shifted from birds and squirrels to mice and rabbits. Hank entertained himself a few times by swiping the longest energon blade, practically a sword, at some of the thick bunches of vegetation to disturb various critters.

By far the most interesting thing he disturbed, though, wasn't a critter at all.

Hank and Spencer had been coming over the top of another low ridge, the former swiping his stolen weapon at the tops of some tall shrubs in an imitation of a master swordfighter.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up." The Roamer said at one point.

"What makes you say that?" Hank replied, ignorant of his friend's annoyed expression. Just as he said it, though, he lunged forward with improper footing. Losing his balance with a yelp, Hank tumbled into the bushes, setting Spencer to chuckling. The laughter cut off, though, as the youth was thrown back out of the vegetation, something pale white and blue landing on top of him.

"Hey!" Spencer yelped as the blade was held against Hank's throat by an angry looking teenager. Before the Roamer could move to intervene, someone else jumped out of the bushes and aimed a rifle at his chest.

"Hold it right there." A serious looking, dark-haired young woman wearing a black and pink shirt growled at him. "One move and your buddy is toast." Slowly, so as to avoid being shot at point blank range, Spencer raised his hands into the air and attempted to look as nonthreatening as possible.

Hank, however, had no such desire, and once the blade was removed from his throat he started spewing curses like there was no tomorrow. "Primus! What the frag is your problem?! Jumping people for no slaggin' good reason-"

"Get up and shut up." The girl snapped at him, the barrel of her gun providing the incentive to obey. Still grumbling, Hank got to his feet and went to stand beside Spencer. Unlike the Roamer's position of surrender, though, he retained a wide stance with his arms crossed and a glare trained on their two assailants. The teen who'd first knocked him down remained crouched on the ground, holding the handle of the energon blade with a white knuckled grip.

Spencer did a double take. It wasn't just the teenager's knuckles that were white, all of his skin was - what little could be seen, anyway, which was mainly just his hands and face. His hair was a silvery color too, and behind the tangled curtain of it Spencer could just make out a pair of pink eyes.

"Now," the girl started speaking again. "Where are your friends hiding, and how many are there?"

The young men blinked first at her, and then at each other. "Uh... What friends?" Spencer asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, Con." She snarled at him. "We all know you creeps travel in packs! So quit stalling and tell me where the rest of them are!"

Hank's jaw dropped. "You think we're fraggin' _Decepticons?_ Lady, did you take a knock to the head or something?"

"You're the ones with Con weapons." The albino teen offered, holding up the blade in his hand.

"We stole them! Just before those slaggers _blew up_ my friend's truck, and after they'd _completely wrecked_ my mom's eatery!" Indignant, Hank shook his head at the accusation. Seeing the new hesitation in the girl's eyes, Spencer went for the clincher.

"If it helps," He said softly, reaching for the collar of his shirt. "I'm a Roamer." That said, he pulled out the same caravan pendant that had identified him to the Decepticons. It was a rectangle of soft green leather, strung on a black cord and embroidered with the symbol of his family's line, the Greenbacks, as well as the specialized glyphs for _The Spark cannot be Restrained._

No one other than a member of his people could wear such a thing, as they were crafted at such a size as to be placed over the heads of infants, who wouldn't be able to remove the pendants again as the children grew. Fortunately, the pair across from him and Hank obviously knew this fact by the way they lowered their weapons. The four of them continued to stare at one another for a moment, until the girl broke the silence.

"Well." She said awkwardly. "Um. Sorry about that. Bye!" With that, she turned and started to disappear back out of sight. Spencer and Hank both began to protest but were beaten out.

"Rhea! Hold on!" The pale teenager cried out. When he saw that she had paused, he looked at the other two with a beseeching expression. "If you guys aren't Cons, then what are you? Autobots?"

"Uh, no - but we're on our way to Iacon in order to sign up with them." Hank said hastily, instantly triggering a wide grin to appear on the teen's face. The dark haired girl quirked an eyebrow at them, but slowly returned to her original position, fortunately with rifle returning to its holster hanging from her shoulder.

"My name's Spencer Ringer, and this is Hank Veer." The Roamer introduced them, gesturing to each in turn. "We met two days ago in Hillitrex, while I was escaping from a group of Decepticons - you're right about them travelling in packs, by the way." He added as an aside to the girl.

"Hmph. I've dealt with enough of them to know." She muttered darkly. "I'm Rhea Curtis, from Hivus. This is Barry Fleet, of Axiom."

"The _Pale Blurr?"_ Spencer asked, incredulous.

Hank looked at him in confusion. "Who?"

"Only the most famous rookie athlete in all the Paxian Forestlands!" His friend exclaimed. "What in Primus' name are you doing all the way out here?!"

"What I do best." Barry shrugged. "Running." Frowning, Rhea reached out and hesitantly set a hand on the slim teen's shoulder, then sent a meaningful glance at the older boys.

"Come on." She said. "We can all swap stories back at camp."

-HF-ST-

As it turned out, being a famous athlete in a city state that allowed Decepticons to freely roam its streets was a less than ideal situation. Barry had spent the last several groons trying to evade the progressively demanding "offers" of recruitment, to the point he'd begun fearing for his family's life. So, seven orns before, he'd helped his parents and little brother disguise themselves and hide away in one of the smaller towns on the edge of Axiom, and then Barry took off.

"...It wasn't that hard to get the timing right to slip off of the road whenever a group of Cons were heading my way, and even the couple of times someone spotted and chased me, well," Barry blushed. "Fastest runner of the century. No one was going to catch up to me once I got started."

"I'll bet!" Hank said in admiration. "So, you just came straight up the highway from Axiom? On foot?"

"Well, I had my rocket-skates for the roadway, but once I found Rhea we ditched the populated areas for cross-country hiking. _Not_ my preferred sport, by the way."

"What did I warn you about the complaining?" The athlete grinned weakly at his travelling companion's glare.

"I'm going to go ahead and let you guys in on an important fact." Barry said in a stage whisper to the older boys. "Do _not_ get into an argument with this girl - if she can't win with reason, she resorts to winning with her fists." Spencer started chuckling, while Hank felt his estimation of the lady rise a few degrees. Rhea, meanwhile, merely rolled her eyes and started pulling a package out from her messenger bag.

"Hope you guys don't mind eating sealed jerky - I don't have much else, and Barry's food supplies were lost to a bear."

Both Hank and Spencer blinked, turning to give questioning stares to the sheepish teen. "Long story," he muttered.

"Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing right now? Swapping stories?"

"Ringer's got a point. So spill, dude!"

Sighing and shaking his head ruefully, Barry started explaining how an unsealed container of sausage, coupled with a catch bag inexpertly secured in a tree for the night cycle, had led to him waking up in the early morning to a Prism-hide bear licking its snout and standing over his bedroll. When the teen mentioned that he had never run faster in his life, Hank snickered and suggested the next time he raced, Barry ought to arrange to have another bear brought in to sit by the starting line. That got all of them laughing, and prompted Spencer to bring up a time one of his cousins had left their caravan in the dead of night to go skinny dipping with a boy from the local town. Come sunrise, she still hadn't returned, and some family members eventually found both of them stuck in the tree that a pack of hunting cyber wolves had forced the young couple into climbing.

"It took us over two joors to get them down, and the whole time each was stuck covering themselves with each other's clothes!" The laughter rang out as the four of them attempted to get down the food Rhea had shared without choking. To the west, the sun had already vanished behind the mountains, though the sky remained glowing with a mixture of warm colors. Hank went ahead and suggest that they try to find a safe spot to sleep for the night cycle.

"Prefferably without any nearby bears, right, Barry?"

"Oh, stuff it Veer." The retort was delivered with a grin, and got another chuckle out of Spencer. While the boys gathered up their bags, Rhea went up the hill a short ways, stopping when she reached an almost spherical clump of bushes. She pulled a wide blade from a hidden sheath in her boot, and started cutting a section of the outer foliage away. Hank was the first to reach her, knapsacks in tow, and watched in amazement as the girl carved out first a doorway, then an interior room around the central trunk of the main plant. The result was a sleeping shelter completely hidden within the bushes, especially once she arranged some of the excess branches into a shield for the door.

"Wow," Hank grinned at her, getting a small smile in return. As the other two joined them, the youths piled into the shelter, Rhea closing it up behind them. There wasn't much head space, but the four were easily able to curl up within the snug room, and shortly afterward dropped off the sleep.

-HF-ST-

Hank was the first to wake up the next morning, with a mouse sniffing at his ear. From the young man's shrieks, the others had assumed they were under attack by something far more deadly, and as a consequence came to their feet brandishing various weapons. By the time Hank was able to calm himself down and explain, the mouse had scampered away, their shelter was pretty much demolished, and various belongings had been scattered around the hillside.

Rhea was not amused. Spencer and Barry both cracked up. Hank merely set about gathering everything together again, and spent much of the rest of the morning muttering about evil rodents.

Midday found the four of them hiking through a narrow valley between some of the lower mountains, each of the youths keeping their eyes open for any danger. Spencer was in the lead, having the best map of the area and the most experience in wild environments. Barry was close behind him, occasionally launching into a fast ramble when the teen spotted something interesting. At times, his words blurred together, leaving Spencer at a bit of a loss as to how to respond; Barry seemed to be used to that, though, and was able to slow himself down a bit again.

A little ways back from the pair, Hank was enjoying the mixture of human voices and natural sounds as he walked. Every now and then, he tried to pause to take in a bit more of the scenery, only for Rhea to prod him in the back. Bringing up the rear and constantly turning her gaze back to the ground they'd already traversed, the young woman internally wished that their little group could pick up the pace a bit. It wasn't that she didn't mind the pleasant setting - in fact, it was a wonderful change from the poorer district of Hivus she had grown up in. But if there was one lesson Rhea had learned over the vorns, it was that peace rarely lasted.

The sudden explosion that rang out from the next valley over seemed to agree with her.

Exchanging startled and worried glances, the four group members drew closer together, making their cautious way towards the mouth of the valley, weapons gradually shifting from holsters to tightly held grips. When they had almost reached the opening that led into a wide basin between mountains, Rhea shifted her position to be in front, near silent as she moved to a sheltered ledge that would allow her a bird's eye view of what would lie ahead of them. Hank found himself shifting anxiously from one foot to another, highly tempted to slip up beside her. He was just about to do so, but was halted mid-step as a very angry sounding voice made it's way over to them.

"...don't know _what_ I did to deserve putting up with you young _idiots!_ If you think yer gonna have such an easy time of it when I get you _incompetent morons_ to Ark Valley, you've got another thing comin'! In fact, I think I'll go out of my way t' let old Ironhide know just what _bumblers_ he's gonna have ta deal with in his weapons courses. And that's _if_ the Autobot High Command agrees to even _let_ you _imbeciles_ into their base!"

Rhea and the boys listened with baffled expressions as the cranky tirade continued on for another few breems. Not until the shouter had worn himself out did a couple of other voices make themselves heard.

"But, Kup, all we were doing was-"

"We just wanted to see how-"

"-didn't realize the trigger was so sensitive-"

"-but the blast! That was fraggin' huge! How do you-"

"Alright, _that's ENOUGH!"_ The first voice bellowed, immediately silencing the others. Hank found himself chuckling, finding the conversation reminiscent of times that the elders in his hometown would chew out misbehaving kids. Granted, he himself was often one of the troublemakers who received a "talkin'-to", but it just heightened the appreciation of when such an event occurred to someone else.

A few kliks later, Rhea's death glare quieted him, and Hank realized he'd just made a potentially terrible mistake in not remaining silent.

Suddenly, a lean figure wearing rugged Wilds Dweller clothing and at least a dozen weapons was standing above the boys in the valley's opening. Glaring eyes framed by a mass of wrinkled, weathered skin bored into the youths, causing Hank, Spencer and Barry to all shuffle back a little. Still on her perch above them, Rhea slowly lifted her rifle, only to freeze when dual whines from energon blasters being warmed up reached her ears.

"One warning, missy." The old man snarled without even looking at her. "You shoot at me, those boys behind me shoot at you, and I doubt yer as good at dodging as I am. Now, just what do you younglings think you all are doing out here, hm?"

Somehow, Hank managed to find his voice before the others. "Uh, well, we were on our way to Iacon, but after listening to you I think we ought to be headed towards some place called Ark Valley, right?"

The glare faded somewhat, shifting from dangerous rage to a look of exasperated annoyance. "Is that so." Some of the obvious tension went out from the man's stance as well, while he eyed the four of them with a studious gaze. "Roamer. Greenback caravan, if I'm not mistaken. You of age to have left yer clan without there bein' a big blow-up over it?"

Spencer blinked, startled by the sudden inquiry. "Um, yes. I'm nineteen vorns old. My grand-uncle agreed I could leave."

"Hmph. And you, Forestlander? Practically still a kid, you are."

"I turned eighteen two groons ago!" Barry protested. "It's my brother Wally who's still a kid."

"Yeah-huh. What about you, with the eye-searing orange?" The man snorted and shook his head. "Gotta be from Biniari or Hillitrex, those are the only places that think clothes colored like that are still allowed in public."

"Hey!" Hank glowered at him. "These were a present from my mom, you jerk."

"Yer _age,_ punk?"

"Twenty vorns."

"Mm." Finally, he turned to arch an eyebrow up at Rhea, who still hadn't moved from her position. "And yourself, little missy? Hivusian, aren't you?"

Her response was a glare, and a muttered _twenty one._

"Alrighty then. Since you all appear to meet the age requirement fer signin' up with the Autobots, I'll let ya tag along with me and the Dim Cousins here." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, reminding Hank of the presence of two more young people. "But, if I'm to find out at any point during the trip that any of you are Decepticon spies or sympathizers..." The old guy trailed off, his scorching glare more than enough of a warning.

Without another word, he turned and stepped back out of sight. After a few moments of hesitation, the boys trailed after him, Hank pausing until Rhea came back down from the ledge. On the other side of the valley's opening, a pair of very muscular young men stood with powered down blasters, identical grins upon their faces. The dark haired one, a good deal shorter than the other, came forward first to introduce himself.

"The name's Hepley, Trenton Hepley. This here's my cousin, Warren Palomine, and the Grouch Supreme over there is Kyle Kup. Who're you guys?" While the four gave their names, Barry was the only one to catch the old man muttering something about a grouchy ratchet - or was that hatchet? Shaking his head, the teen returned to the new conversation in time to hear Trenton say he was glad Rhea had stopped taking aim when she did, because it would have been a real shame to shoot such a pretty lady.

The girl eyed him for all of three kliks before yelling out to Kup. "Am I allowed to hit this one?"

"Missy, you can hit 'em _both_ fer all I care!"

"What did _I_ do?" Warren yelped in surprise, while his cousin had to start backpedaling away from Rhea's menacing expression.

"Whoa, easy lady, all I did was pay you a compli- _YOW!"_ The sweeping high kick never actually connected with Trenton's face, but he over-compensated in trying to dodge away from Rhea, and ended up tumbling down the shallow hill to the basin's bottom.

"Consider that your only warning!" She called down, turning to march back to the others. Hank, while annoyed by Trenton's initial comment, was grinning widely as Rhea stomped her way over to stand beside him.

"And now's when it starts getting interesting." He laughed.

"So, what was that explosion we heard earlier?" Spencer asked after they had gotten moving again. Kup was in the lead now, guiding the half a dozen youngsters as they moved through one valley after another, following some path only he seemed to know. Barry and Rhea both managed to stay right behind him, while the other boys hung back a little bit to talk.

"Heh. Funny story, actually," Trenton began, before Warren cut him off.

"We wanted to see if Kup's old rifle actually still worked, so my dunderheaded cousin here filched it for a breem in order to take a shot."

Hank snorted. "I'm sorry, _one rifle_ managed to make a blast _that_ big?"

"It did!" Exclaimed Trenton, wide-eyed. "I have no idea how, but that thing packs a bigger kick than a grade three plasma cannon! It turned the tree I was aiming at into charcoal, and the shockwave knocked down everything else nearby-"

"Which I why I don't usually _fire_ the fraggin' thing unless I'm shooting at a _Decepticon's_ vehicle!" The old man roared back at them. All four boys jumped in surprise, while Rhea looked back with a smirk and Barry just shook his head in awe.

Eyebrows going up, Hank exchanged glances with the youths around him, all silently agreeing not to bring the subject up again.

For the rest of the orn, the young people of the group tentatively exchanged stories and got to know each other, even going so far as to hypothesize what sorts of exploits they'd do as Autobots (admittedly, this last bit was mostly Hank and Trenton). For the most part, Kup ignored their conversing, though he did occasionally call out to contradict something he'd heard and thought was exceptionally idiotic.

Even with this habit, it wasn't until the morning after their first night camping together that it became apparent just how evil the old man was...

A horrendous, terrible clanging noise jerked Hank into consciousness, along with all five of his companions. The lot of them struggled to their feet, Rhea and the cousins brandishing weaponry in different directions, until the source of the horrible cacophony was noticed.

Kup finished banging the pair of collapsible cooking pans together, watching them all with a smug grin.

"Oh, don't you lot look at me like that," He chuckled in the face of their combined glares. "Just be happy I didn't have any buckets of ice water on hand - now _that_ is a refreshing way to wake up in the morning!" The youths didn't deign to respond, merely setting about gathering up their scattered bedding materials.

"Look on the bright sight, dude-" Spencer muttered to Hank. "At least it wasn't another rodent."

"Oh, shut up."

-HF-ST-

Kup frowned thoughtfully as he watched the dark clouds that gathered in the distance. "I'd hoped we'd have a little longer." He murmured, eyes taking a moment to check over his latest batch of youngling recruits. The young hot rod and younger Hepley boy were trying to compare past exploits to see who was the biggest idiot again, while the other boys listened in and the girl pretended to be ignoring the lot of them. Out of all the prospective Autobots Kup had brought to Ark Valley over the vorns, these didn't seem like they'd be anything special - but his instincts were saying otherwise.

If nothing else, the old Wilds Dweller certainly didn't want to lose any of them to the fierce storm headed their way.

"Listen up!" He barked, capturing all of their gazes immediately. "As I'm sure you all are aware, Cybertron is about to enter another of her periodic rainy seasons. I had hoped we'd be able to make it to Autobot Headquarters before the first of the storms set in, but it would seem we aren't that lucky. So, I'm going to put us on a little detour, to take shelter with a friend of mine until a break in the weather presents us with better timing for the last leg of the journey." And with that, he started down the game trail that clung to the edge of the mountainside they'd camped on the night before.

In the four days they'd been travelling in the same group, Hank hadn't had reason yet to distrust Kup (aside from that first morning's pot banging incident). He surprised both himself and the others by being the first one to hurry after the old man.

"Sooo, where are we detouring too?" Hank asked when he was a couple of steps behind Kup. The grey haired Wilds Dweller arched an eyebrow at his presence.

"Expected you t' be at the back again." He muttered, before speaking up. "A crash site that's been in these mountains fer about fourteen vorns at this point. I was present when it was made, and spent a nerve-wracking groon fixing up the poor slagger who'd been shot down by the Cons. He's been in that place every since."

"He's an Autobot, then?"

"No- not exactly. He sympathizes with our cause, but has family on the other side of the War. So, rather than actively joining our ranks, he just gives me a convenient place to take shelter from time to time, and occasionally other Wilds Dwellers as well."

Hank was silent for a little while as they continued down the path, the others stretched out in a line behind them. "How many of you guys are there, anyway? Wilds Dwellers and the like who work for the Autobot cause."

"Plenty. When the Decepticons started targeting us, there weren't very many who weren't willing to do something about it." Kup paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over in his mind. "I was one of 'em, fer the first vorn or two - and then Cons attacked my family's dwelling in the Forestlands." Hank felt his heart freeze at the words. "After I buried my wife and children, it was an old friend of mine who got me out of my depression and back to doing something practical. He's one of the oldest Autobots, both in terms of actual age and with how long he's been in the ranks; goes by the designation Ironhide."

"I heard you mention his name when you were yelling at the cousins."

"Heh, yeah, he's one tough fragger, and the poor man in charge of making sure all you young hot shots know one end of a blaster from the other. Do yourself a favor, kid, and try to avoid getting on his bad side when we reach Ark Valley." At Hank's 'who, me?' face, Kup revised his advice. "Actually, it might be more practical t' say just stay out of his way - I have a feeling yer exactly the type of troublemaker old 'Hide especially hates."

"Oh. Joy."

His deadpan look got a laugh out of the oldtimer, at least.

Half a joor later, just as the howling winds started to hurl fat raindrops down at the group, Kup lead them into a narrow valley and towards the massive air shuttle husk that dominated the upper half of it. Despite a fair amount of vegetation growing in the sheltered area, the scrubby bushes and long grasses couldn't do anything to hide the massive scores in the earth and along the cliffs that made the valley - remnants of the terrific crash that must have taken place vorns before.

"'Fire!" Kup shouted as he and the youths got closer. "Skyfire, ya in there!" A tall, lanky figure dressed in a stained and worn pilot's uniform appeared in the rear hatch of the shuttle's ruins.

"And here I didn't expect to see you for another groon, Kyle!" The scruffy man grinned, eyes twinkling as his gaze swept over the recruits. "Well, get in here before you all get soaked."

-HF-ST-

"So, Kup said that you weren't an Autobot - but you've still got one of their codenames?" Hank was a bit confused by this detail, hence why he took a chance in asking the old pilot while the other recruits made themselves comfortable in the surprisingly well-equipped ruins. All around what had been the main hold, Skyfire had set up dozens of low tables and cushion seats, lengths of wool and leather lining the walls to help hold in the warmth.

Ignoring the warning glare Kup sent at him, Hank remained where he was as their host started pulling out foodstuffs for lunch. "You're right, on both counts. My real name is Skylar Dawning. But I'll explain fully after we all have something in our bellies."

Sure enough, after he'd passed around toasted bread and cured ham, Skyfire sat himself down between Kup and Barry, and told them his tale.

"I was born in Vos, but moved to Cybertropolis at a young age to enroll in the flight program there. I'd always wanted to help those in the far reaches of Cybertron's wild places, by bringing them connections to the rest of the world, along with other supplies needed to survive the cold and rainy seasons. Every vorn, though, I'd always spend my vacation time back home, visiting my siblings and their wealth of children. When the early days of the Imperials got started, I was taken in along with many other by their oaths of bettering Cybertron by ensuring everyone was on equal footing, with opportunities to make something of themselves. I admit to being exceptionally proud when all six of my brother and sister's children grew up to join the ranks of the Seeker squadrons Vos was turning out... And then everything went wrong.

"After the Senate was disbanded, Morgan Triumphal, or Megatron as I hear he's been calling himself as of late, ordered all shuttle flights bringing material goods to Cybertron's outer reaches stopped. Many of my comrades did so, but I'd made an attachment with the people I delivered hope to - I refused to stop. On what turned out to be my final flight, a group of Vosian Seekers chased after me, all the way into these mountains. They... They were led by my eldest nephew, Steven Dawning. He ordered, pleaded with me to turn around, but when I continued to ignore his hails, he and the others opened fire on me."

"I was standing below 'em when it happened." Kup said quietly when Skyfire had a hard time continuing. "Saw the shots, watched as the shuttle dropped and the jets turned back. Dropped what I was doing and made a beeline for the crash site. This place was a mess, then - metal plating and crates strewn all about, fires dotting the valley. Somehow," he clapped Skyfire on the shoulder, getting a small smile out of the man. "This moron managed to survive all that. Granted, he was a right mess when I found him, what with the blood and burns and what not. Took me almost half a vorn to get him back on his feet."

Trenton looked back and forth between them, incredulous. "Wait, you mean _you_ actually nursed someone back to health?"

"And just what is so surprising about that?" Kup eyed him.

"Uh... Nothing!"

"Anyway," Skyfire regained control of the conversation. "While he was keeping me from, as Kup likes to put it, 'croaking and keeling over,' I had a hard time thinking straight and was unable to give him a name. So, the old man started calling me 'Skyfire' in honor of my dramatic landing, and it was similar enough to my own name that I started answering to it in my delirious state - afterward we were both used to it, so the designation stuck."

"You are _barely_ a decade younger than me, you slagger. That does _not_ give you the right to call me an old man."

Rhea smirked at the Wilds Dweller's grumbled complaint. "So, does that mean us 'younglings' get to call you an old man? Seems only fair, after all." Skyfire and the boys started to laugh as Kup merely scowled into his sandwich.

"Interesting batch of recruits you've managed to gather this time around, Kyle." The other man finally said. "Dare I ask where you found them all?"

"Those two-" He pointed an accusatory finger at Warren and Trenton. "Tried t' follow me after I left the Coldhorn Slopes. Their stealth skills leave a _lot_ to be desired. The rest, found 'em by accident about four and a half orns southwest of here."

"All at once, or...?"

"Yeah, we'd been travelling together for about an orn at that point, and in pairs before hand..." Spencer and Barry started to explain, while the others kept on eating. By the time they'd all finished, Skyfire had heard the full story. As the storm outside had only increased in strength over the joor, he led them all to some of the smaller storage bays, which had been converted into berth rooms. Rhea got her own, the boys another, while Skyfire and Kup retreated to the more private rooms up near the cockpit.

The storm didn't show any signs of letting up the next morning, so their guide decided to take the opportunity to start teaching the youths a bit more about the life they were all signing up for. "Optimus Prime's in charge. You try arguing with or going against his orders without a fraggin' good reason, you can bet yer sorry afts it's a one way ticket out of the Valley. Prowl is his 2nd in Command, a stickler fer the rules, but as long as you don't start pulling pranks or participating in senseless brawls, he won't be any harder on ya than anyone else. Jazz, on the other hand, is about as wild a partier as it gets. He's the 3rd in Command and runs Special Operations, sometimes disappears for a few deca-orns at a time, but then reappears when yer least expectin' him.

"Red Alert is the Security Director, and a more paranoid man you will never meet - _not_ that he doesn't have good reason for it, growing up with his Pit-spawn younger brothers. Remind me to tell you sometime about the _fun_ time I had taking _them_ t' Ark Valley. Ratchet's the Chief Medical Officer, and Primus help ya if you manage to infuriate the man into one of his rages. He's always a grouch at any rate, but when some poor soul makes him _really_ mad, the wrenches and other weapons start to fly at every head in the room. A bit more laid back is Blaster, the man in charge of Communications, who usually has his gaggle of nieces and nephews helping him-"

"Wait, kids? They actually let kids into the home base of the High Command of the Autobot Army?" Warren was shocked, to say the least.

"Bee was the first, and the rest followed. Granted, we usually only let younger family members in if they don't have anywhere else t' go. Now, the other man you really ought to know about is Ironhide..." Kup continued on for almost three joors, telling them about the soldiers and other specialty personnel stationed in the Valley, the chore rotations, basic training schedules, and other ins and outs of the base. Even after Warren's exclamation about teens and kids being present, though, none of the recruits were ready for the last warning Kup gave them. "The absolute worse thing you could do is mess with Bumblebee. He's around twelve vorns old - an estimate, on account of having been found as a toddler about a decade ago by the Command element themselves. In the vorns since then, the kid's never said a word to anyone, but he's as sharp as they come and holds a grudge even worse than old 'Hide. Everyone in Ark Valley has done something to contribute to Bee's growing up, from teaching him t' read and write t' throwing knives and worse. If you do something to bully him over his silence or fear of heights, I _guarantee_ after yer stint in the brig is up that boy will do something downright _awful_ to ya."

The youths all exchanged wide eyed glances, which got Kup to grin evilly. "Don't believe me? Just you wait then."

-HF-ST-

They ended up staying with Skyfire for another two orns, until the storm clouds had a big enough break in them that Kup deemed it a good time to move on. As the youths gathered up their things, the old Wilds Dweller and shuttle pilot arranged plans for a supply run the following groon, which Hank caught the tail end of.

"Wait a klik - aren't you staying at the Valley with us?" He asked, forehead creased in concern.

"I'm a guide, kid. I get people to Prime and Ironhide, and after that I head out again t' see who else I can find." Kup told him, feeling a bit uneasy at the dejected look on Hank's face. "That's not to say I don't show up fer a meal and a night in a real bed every now and then, though. And an evening of cards with the older lot." He added. Hank nodded, looking a little more cheerful as he stepped away to join the waiting group.

Skyfire smiled at his old friend, prompting the Wilds Dweller to scowl and ask what it was. "Nothing. I just haven't seen you care so much about those you come through here with before."

"What are ya talkin' about, 'Fire? I always care-"

"About getting them to their destination, but not so much about how they think of you. I suspect that boy and the others have all grown attached to you, regardless of how long you've been leading them through the mountains."

Sighing, Kup glanced over his shoulder at the chatting recruits. "...They're all about the age Kevin and Kayla were when the Cons killed them and Liesel. Just a bunch of kids... But I've got a feeling about this lot. They're special, each in their own way." Skyfire just smiled and gave his friend's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Then may I suggest you step up the amount of times you visit Ark Valley, at least during the duration of their training?"

"...I might just do that."


	2. Chapter 2

_Back again! A month and a day later, I deliver to you now the second chapter of Hard Facts, Simple Truths, in which our main stars gain their Autobot designations, meet some key members of the army, and start to get an idea of just what they've signed themselves up for. I do hope you will enjoy, and leave a review, dagnabit!_

 _In no way official, but this is how I use 'em:_

 _Klik (Second)_

 _Breem (Minute) 100 kliks_

 _Joor (Hour) 60 breems_

 _Orn (Day) 30 joors - 15 for a day cycle, 15 for a night cycle_

 _Deca-orn (Week) 10 orns_

 _Groon (Month) 3 deca-orns/30 orns_

 _Vorn (Year) 14 groons/42 decaorns/420 orns_

Chapter 2 - Assessments and Assignments

"I think I liked Kup waking us up with the pot and pan routine more than this." Trenton grumbled, Hank nodding through a yawn to agree with him. It was the first official orn of training for the new recruits, their Wilds Dweller guide having finally gotten them to Ark Valley the evening before, right as a powerful new storm was opening up. After taking a shower and warming up again, Hank and everyone else had dropped off to bed without so much as a tour of the base.

When the day cycle began, though, they got their first good look at their instructor, Kup's good friend Ironhide. The grey-haired man was easily as muscular than the Hepley cousins, and even taller than Warren. He was a flesh and blood version of a tank - strong, tough, and very, very loud.

" _ON YER FEET,_ ya lazy good fer nothin' slag heaps!" The old timer had bellowed, stomping into the barracks room that the five young men were previously sleeping in. It was chaos for a few moments before Ironhide got them organized and lined up for inspection.

Trying and failing to stifle another yawn, Hank nearly leapt a foot in the air when his eyes blinked back open to find the old man glaring at him from a mere few inches away.

"Did I cut too much into yer beauty sleep time, boy?" Ironhide growled, easily intimidating his victim. "Should I let you go cryin' t' yer momma?" At a loss for words, Hank just shook his head while maintaining eye contact, hoping that the massive soldier would leave him alone to pick on someone else.

It was just then that an unexpected reprieve came, in the form of Rhea entering the room and joining the line, catching the old man's eye.

"Glad you could join us, missy." Straightening up, Ironhide resumed looking each of them over before returning to a central position where each of the youths could see him. "Now. As you may have been warned, I'm Ironhide, the top Weapons Specialist for this base. You will not tell me your names, as Kup has already added them to our records and there they will stay. From this now on, you will be known by your Autobot designation - this is both to protect any relatives of yours back home, and your own identities after the War ends, whenever that orn may come."

One by one he looked at each of them in turn with their new codename. "Warpath." Warren straightened ever so slightly and nodded.

"Cliffjumper." Trenton wrinkled his nose up, as though remembering something unpleasant, but also nodded.

"Blurr." Barry actually appeared a bit relieved, probably because his codename wasn't too different from what people had been calling him for vorns anyway.

"Springer." For a split second, Spencer looked confused, but it cleared away as he accepted the name.

Then it was Hank's turn. "Hot Rod." And he felt like protesting. What kind of a designation was that supposed to be? Certainly not one that would have glory heaped upon it. But before he could say anything, Ironhide had already moved on to Rhea.

"Arcee." She frowned, but didn't say a word, so Hank also reluctantly kept his silence.

"Well, now that that's all out th' way, we're gonna spend the rest o' today figuring out just what guns you lot can handle, and what you'll be trainin' with and usin' from now on. Tomorrow we'll do the same with blades, and the day after that will come hand-to-hand combat, followed by tactical assessments, and finally vehicle practice." It all sounded good in theory, but Hank knew something was bound to come up that would shake his enjoyment. Ironhide barked for them all to get moving, and the group followed him out of the barracks at a jog.

"Isn't this exciting?" He muttered sarcastically, getting Rhea - Arcee - to pause mid-step and lightly kick him. Hank got the message: shut up and keep up.

As it turned out, Kup had apparently gone easy on them in the mountains.

While each orn would be dedicated to different assessments of the youths, every morning was slotted for a physical workout that left Hank nearly exhausted by the end of it. The only good thing about their run around the perimeter of the base was that he finally got to see the whole place - it would have been a very lovely little valley, if not for the various components of a military outpost occupying the area.

In the center was a three story command center, surrounded by barracks and several specialized buildings: the mess hall, an armory, a shooting range, and training center, just to name a few. Several garages and cliffside bunkers dotted the edges of the valley, with a wide driving track circling all the interior structures. It was on this track that Ironhide set the new recruits to running, with a stop every so often for crunches or jumping jacks. When they finally finished three laps, the sun had risen high enough to be visible over the surrounding barrier of mountain stone, and it came time for the weapons assessments.

"Everyone to a marker!" Ironhide instructed, getting them to assemble along a line of marks on the ground at one end of the shooting range. There was another youth already there, who couldn't have been any older than Barry- Blurr, standing beside a table covered with guns of different sizes and types.

"Now," their grey haired trainer drawled. "We're gonna start off with a simple pistol. Bluestreak here is one of our premier shooters, and will be helping me with your drills. Blue?" The youth quickly selected half a dozen small, handheld weapons and brought them over. Each of the new recruits picked one up, Trenton- Cliffjumper making a face at its size.

"Please tell me we'll get to shoot something bigger than this!" He complained, not realizing that Ironhide was right behind him.

"You'll shoot what I give ya t' shoot, runt." The large man growled in a warning tone. "If yer able to go on up to a larger size, then ya will. If not, then there will be _no. Complaining._ Got it?"

"Yessir!" Cliffjumper waited until Ironhide had moved on, before whispering over to his cousin. "Is it just me, or does he remind you of Gran?"

"Yeah, it's kind of scary. Think they might be related?"

"I hope not, 'cause then it would mean _we're_ related to him!"

"Quiet!" Ironhide barked, getting them all to fall silent and pay attention again. "Now. Each of you will take a turn firin' five shots at yuir target, with Blue takin' note of yer score while I correct any flaws in yer technique. After t'day, each o' ya will be assigned a particular weapon, which it will be yer job to maintain 'n practice with. Got that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good! Ladies first." He nodded to Arcee, who took a stance and raised her silver pistol to eye level. Five rapid shots later, she returned to a normal position while turning the Safety switch back on. Ironhide grinned his approval while Bluestreak jotted something down on a datapad.

"Four out of five hits!" The youth called out, and then it was Hank's turn. He tried to mimic Arcee's earlier stance, squinting down the yards to his target board. The first shot had him flinching, which threw off all his others as he tried to get them all done as quick as possible.

"Er... Two hits." Bluestreak said sympathetically as Hank brought the pistol back down. Ironhide just shook his head, moving on to Springer while Arcee had to remind the youth beside her to put his gun on Safety.

It was going to be a long day...

-HF-ST-

Just over two joors later, Hank was wholeheartedly agreeing with his earlier thought. He hadn't had the opportunity to handle a real gun in vorns, so it was to be expected that his skills were less than stellar - first with the pistol, then the one-handed blaster, followed by the two-handed, the rifle, and the cannon (which he could barely lift). The only person who'd done worse was Blurr, who had never fired a gun before in his life.

Arcee had done pretty good with all the weapons, being the only person to get a perfect score with the rifle test. Springer wasn't far behind her, landing three or four shots each time. Warpath's hands had swallowed the pistol and smaller blaster, making his job of aiming a bit trickier, but he was then the only one to able to easily lift and fire the cannon, making up for his earlier poor scores. Cliffjumper had also insisted on giving the cannon a try, and though he could raise the thing up to chest height, his short stature had the guy overbalancing and nearly hitting the targets on either side of his own, only scoring one proper shot.

By the end of it, Ironhide was grumbling to himself, heading off for the officers' quarters as he ordered Bluestreak to escort the rookies to the mess hall for lunch.

"Don't worry," the young Autobot told them all as he led the way. "We'll get everything sorted out by this evening. Ironhide's really good at what he does, I've been here a long time, well not as long as him obviously, but for as long as I've been here there's never been anyone better-"

"I think this guy might actually talk more than you do, Blurr." Hank mentioned to his downcast friend as the two hung back from the others and Bluestreak's incessant chatter.

"I dunno, Ha- Hot Rod, I used to go a lot faster than that when I babbled at people."

"Well, either way, maybe you two could start a club." Seeing that his attempt at humor wasn't doing much to cheer his friend up, Hank decided to switch topics. "I wonder if they've got anything to shoot long distance besides guns here. I'm a crack-shot with a crossbow."

That got Blurr to pick his head up and stare at the other youth. "You're kidding."

"Nope - my mom didn't let me keep or practice with anything that fired bullets and energon, so I got one of the older hunters to teach me how to shoot his crossbow. It's a pretty quiet weapon, with none of the noise and recoil that kept throwing off my aim today."

"Huh. Think I could learn to use one of those?"

"Probably. I'm gonna ask if they've got any, so maybe you and I could train with those and let the gun-types leave us be!"

"That would be nice..." Blurr sighed wistfully. "Don't get me wrong, I'm used to tough coaches pushing me to do better, but this Ironhide guy is in a league by himself."

"Yeah, can you believe that he actually makes Kup look like pleasant company?" Both of them got to snicker over that, before entering the mess hall after their friends. The large room wasn't very full, it being a bit before the usual mealtime, but definitely wasn't empty either. And of the half a dozen people seated at various tables, the only one who didn't look up to stare at the newcomers was a blonde kid in a yellow shirt working on the datapad he held.

It was straight towards this particular table that Bluestreak headed, calling back to the trainees that they were welcome to get their meals and sit wherever. Shrugging, Springer led the way over to the serving counters set along one wall, where wide window openings allowed the food to be transferred from the kitchens into the seating area.

"Ten credits says this is nowhere as good as what we eat at home," Cliffjumper muttered as the six of them sat down at an empty table, loaded trays in hand. As his first bite of mashed potatoes, Hank had to agree. It certainly didn't help that he'd grown up in his mom's eatery where the food had to be exceptional in order to get return business. Arcee, though, was digging in as though this was the greatest meal she'd ever had.

Warpath was watching her with amusement. "Rhea, if you keep that up, you're going to choke."

"Like Pit I will," the girl mumbled through her full mouth before swallowing. "The camping rations might have been better than what I survived off of in Hivus, but this is even better than those!" And with that startling comment, she dove back into inhaling her food. The boys all exchanged bewildered glances, but also returned to their own meals.

"Hi there!" An unexpected voice chirped in Hank's ear, startling the youth and getting him to jump. A dark skinned man pulled a chair up to their table and flopped into it. "So! Y'all are th' new meat ole 'Hide's been worryin' at, huh?"

"Uh..." Hank blinked at the guy, still stunned from his sudden arrival. The others weren't in much better condition. "Yeah?"

"S'cool, man, 'Hide's never as tough as he firs' looks." Grinning, the man leaned forward in his seat to peer at them all over the top of his reflective visor. "I'm Jazz, by the way, but y'all can call me whatever y'want: Jazzer, Jazzy, Jazz-man, it all works. No need ta return th' intro's, I already know who each a' you is. What I'm interested in _now_ is what the new reports _don't_ cover!"

"...Huh?"

"What y'all like t' do in yuir spare time, what're yuir favorite colors 'n things, and most importantly-" He paused, getting all of them to lean a little closer. "Music! Always gotta know what tunes folks like best and least."

"Music?" Arcee asked blankly. "I don't listen to music."

Immediately, Jazz's clasped both hands over his heart, schooling his features into an expression of pain. "Don't listen to it? Girl, y'don't know what you've been missin'!"

Her response was just to shrug. "I've got better things to do with my time than waste it." With that, Jazz tipped his chair backwards, falling to the floor with a _crash_ that got everyone's attention.

"A waste o' time, she calls it!" He proclaimed dramatically, getting most of the spectators to realize what the problem was and to roll their eyes. One older man in a white and red medical coat growled something under his breath and came over.

"Jazz, if you pretend to have a heart attack over this again I will knock you over the head with something bigger than a wrench." Looking up from his prone position on the ground, the music-lover favored the dour man with a dazzling smile.

"Aw, c'mon doc, that was a serious medical emergency!" He proclaimed, hopping back to his feet and righting the chair. "You 'n 'Hide are th' only ones I've still t' convince of music's value - even Prowler's agreed it can be helpful! Though, now it looks like I've got another non-believer t' work on." Arcee snorted while the medic crossed his arms and glared.

"I do agree that certain sound patterns can stimulate a response in the body, but only from a scientific standpoint. It does _not_ mean you can cajole me into breaking out into song with you!"

"An' my job will not be done 'til I've succeeded on that verra important thing!" Out of the doctor's pocket came a wrench, the sight of which had Jazz's grin growing a bit weaker. He quickly made his excuses to the recruits before fleeing.

"'Bout time." Taking the chair that Jazz had vacated, the man looked them all over. "Chief Medical Officer Ratchet. If he or any of the other lunatics in this place get on your nerves, my best suggestion is to threaten them with one of these - I've spent vorns instilling a fear of wrenches and other projectiles into their thick skulls."

"Uh, good to know." Springer said quickly.

"Now, I'm perfectly aware that Ironhide's got a prior claim on your afts for the next few orns, but I'm going to insist on getting in a proper physical examination for each of you by the end of the deca-orn. That'll include you lot letting me know ahead of time about any particular quirks that need to be taken into consideration if and when I'm stitching you back up after a fight. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Ratchet nodded in approval of their quick responses, relaxing a little more into his seat.

"Good. On another note, if any of you get on my bad side, I'll make your lives so awful to endure that visiting the Pit will seem like a vacation. Got that into your heads?" Again, he seemed satisfied by the rapid affirmatives, and stood to take his leave of them. "Very good. We'll be seeing each other later then."

As Ratchet walked away, Hank leaned forward to ask a worrisome question. "Are all the officers in this place crazy?"

"It's sure looking like it." Cliffjumper muttered. "Let's just hope we come out of here alive and with our sanity intact."

"Here, here."

When Hank approached Bluestreak at the end of lunch to ask about crossbows, the youth got an excited gleam in his eye. He soon led the recruits over to the armory, where they spent some time admiring the many, many racks of weapons and ammunition while their guide looked for something he'd set aside ages ago.

"A-hah!" Bluestreak emerged from the far shadows, triumphantly holding up a pair of hi-tech crossbows, accompanying packs of bolts slung over his shoulders. It wasn't long before Hank had unfolded and set one of the weapons up, showing the others how to load, aim, and fire it. His very first shot hit a bull's-eye in the target - the next five were used to form a star shape around the initial bolt. Ironhide returned to the shooting range in time to see this feat, and found himself a tad impressed.

Soon enough, though, he'd ordered the recruits back into their earlier line, handing out the weapons that they'd proven to be most proficient in that morning. Arcee got a rifle, Springer a two-handed blaster, while a cannon went to Warpath, and Cliffjumper was given a one-handed blaster. Hank was elated when told he could keep the crossbow, Blurr wearing a matching grin as he was instructed to learn how to use the other one. The rest of the afternoon was spent going over the cleaning instructions for each individual weapon, as well as some instruction on how to better their respective aims. By the time that Bluestreak was told to take the group back to the mess hall for dinner, each of the recruits had passed their first day of assessments.

"It gets harder from here on in." Ironhide promised them with an evil grin. Even so, none of the rookies felt their spirits dampen.

They were one step closer to becoming Autobots, after all.

-HF-ST-

The next morning started out in the same manner, with Ironhide getting them all up before the sun and out running laps around the base. Once the exercises were over and done with, though, the recruits were led to indoor training center. Every single one of them balked a bit upon seeing Jazz standing by an arrangement of energon blades and grinning manically at them.

"Apparently you've already met this here rascal, so I'll skip the introduction today." Ironhide barked, getting the youths focused back on the matter at hand. "We're gonna follow th' same basic idea as yesterday, so git in yer line - or do I hafta yell it out for ya?" Instantly, the six rookies were standing half an arm's length away from one another along the wall. Their instructor nodded his approval, before motioning Jazz forward to start explaining about each of the weapons types they'd be going over.

"Now, since there's way more variety here th'n what y'all worked with yesterday, I'm gonna ask ahead o' time what each a you's got previous experience with." As before, they started at one end of the line and worked their way down. Arcee was familiar with knives and daggers, able to wield them in a close quarters fight as well as throw the things, with almost as much accuracy as her shooting skills. Hank could only claim to understanding the basics of sword fighting, though Springer's snickers as he said so didn't help matters. The former Roamer said he could fight with both short and long blades, being most familiar with short axes. Blurr, again, couldn't lay claim to any sort of experience, but Jazz was willing to bet that a lifetime of playing sports that tended to involve some form of ball or puck being controlled with long sticks or paddles would help the athlete out more than he expected. Warpath and Cliffjumper said that, from a young age, they'd been set to practice fights against one another using everything from swords to battleaxes. When Ironhide asked who had first trained them, and the cousins replied that their Gran taught the two, the man threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh. Jazz looked as startled as all the youths.

"Ooh-kay then, now that you've gone and broken th' man, let's see what y'all got on the fightin' mats."

While Ironhide got over his attack of unexplained mirth, Jazz had the recruits pull out some weapons they could use, and set the group to going up against some practice dummies so he could take note of stances, grips and the like. Once the older man joined him, the pair set about moving through their trainees to adjust faults and get a closer look at how much skill and power everyone was able to supply. The cousins were definitely able warriors, with Ironhide wanting Warpath to start doing advanced training with some of the larger battleaxes and broadswords. Cliffjumper was once again irritated to find his height working against him, as the Weapons Specialist insisted he use a smaller blade.

Arcee was already very proficient at working with a dagger in each hand, taking her mock opponent apart at the seams. When Jazz brought up her earlier mention of having some skill at throwing, the girl's response was to toss one of her daggers up, grab it by the tip of the blade, and hurl the thing at a dummy at the other end of the row. Hank near about leapt out of his skin when it embedded itself into the wood of the thing's head, directly between the painted representation of eyes.

"Remind me not to do anything to frag her off," he muttered to Springer, standing behind him.

"Could have told you that the first day we met her, dude."

Having taken one of the longswords from the assortment, Hank was asked to demonstrate a bit of what he could do. As Jazz corrected the position of his feet and a few of his movements, the youth didn't notice Ironhide frowning thoughtfully at him. What Hank _did_ notice was Arcee's interested attention, and he nearly fell over himself trying to perform what should have been an impressive spinning attack on the dummy. Jazz doubled over laughing as the older instructor huffed in irritation.

Springer managed to impress the both of them with his sure grip and manipulation of a hatchet, not only performing sweeping attacks against unseen enemies but following Arcee's earlier example by successfully throwing it at one of the dummies. Blurr, though, was the most surprising of everyone when Jazz gave him a couple of short paddles to hold.

"Hey, these are like the sticks we use in Blast Ball!" The teen exclaimed happily, giving the set a quick flurry of motion.

"Yep, now howsabout we see just how fast ya are, kid." Smirking, Jazz moved to a machine with a long tube emerging from it, and activated the thing. Taken by surprise when the first ball came shooting towards him, Blurr yelped and twisted to avoid it. Cliffjumper wasn't so lucky, getting socked in the gut and nearly falling over from the force of the hit.

"Are ya gonna dodge or are ya gonna fight, boy?" Ironhide barked, getting Blurr to realize just what this test was. Another ball was shot towards him, and this time, the athlete struck it with one of the paddles, sending the projectile whizzing at a ninety degree angle towards the door.

Gradually, Jazz increased the pace the balls were being fired at, and Blurr deflected every single one. His fellow recruits were in awe, for as long as they were standing in an area behind him, it was guaranteed that they wouldn't be in danger from the projectiles. Blurr was breathing heavily by the time the exercise was over, but he had a large grin on his face.

"That was the most fun I've had since before the Cons started pestering me back home!" He told the others, still riding the high from his achievement.

"War ain't about fun, kid." Ironhide interrupted his joy. "Imagine ya were holdin' a couple a shields in those fast hands a yer's - think ya'd be able to move 'em quick 'nuff t' deflect bullets 'n shrapnel?"

"Yes." Blurr responded without a trace of hesitation.

"Good. We'll git ya outfitted fer some then, along with settin' ya t' learnin' how t' move a pair a blades like Arcee does." And with that, he sent them off to get their midday meal.

Jazz of course accompanied the group, finally getting some of the info he'd been after the orn before. When they reached the mess hall, he also started pointing out to them some of the other Autobots stationed in the Valley. Bluestreak waved at the group from another table, along with a young man wearing similarly styled clothing. Ratchet was also in mess hall again, sitting and glaring at the two men having a discussion at his table - one with spectacles, who looked rather reserved, and another in a soot-stained lab coat, who was getting more and more animated about something.

"Blue and Smokey both been here since they were kids, so I 'spect you guys ought ta get 'long with 'em just fine." Jazz mentioned as the rookies all sat down with their food. "I don' think I gotta warn ya 'bout steerin' clear o' th' Hatchet when he's in a mood, but the other fellas sittin' over there 're okay. Percy's a bit bland, but 'Jack's always willin' t' help a guy out - jus', be careful 'round his inventions, they got a tendency ta go boom when ya least expect it!"

"He makes new weapons?" Cliff asked, excitedly.

"Eh, sometimes, but that man could be workin' on a toaster an' it would still explode." He chuckled at the looks of scepticism. "Hey, that's fine if'n ya don't believe me jus' yet - by the end o' the deca-orn, you'll see wha' I mean."

The six of them resolved to take the man at his word, for the time being.

-HF-ST-

Another morning, another three laps around the base, another orn of assessments. This time, though, the recruits were more than a little startled at the sight of Ironhide's latest assistant.

"He's just a kid!" Cliffjumper protested when they entered the training center to find the blonde boy waiting for them. Said kid rolled his eyes while Ironhide chuckled.

"True, but he's a kid that's lived here fer as long as the War's been goin' on." The old soldier told them. "An' I suggest ya see what he can do 'fore you go sayin' things like that t' his face. Right, Bee?"

Nodding, the kid gestured for Cliff to follow him onto the sparring mat. Grumbling about how fighting someone half his age was just wrong, the rookie nonetheless stomped after him.

Less than ten kliks later, Cliffjumper was flat on his back, the kid crouched over him and smirking like a smug cyber-cat. As he stepped away, Ironhide leaned over to raise an eyebrow at the wheezing Cliff.

"Now, learned a valuable lesson have we?" A weak nod was all the answer he needed. "Good. I suggest that th' next time y' call Bumblebee a kid, it had better be in a pleasant manner, got it?" Another nod, and then Ironhide was helping the stunned rookie up and over to a wall.

The remaining five all exchanged wide-eyed glances, mixtures of shock and amusement. Noticing them, Bee just smiled in an innocent way that totally belied the punches and dropkick he performed just a few moments before.

"So! Who's next?"

Fortunately, the rest of the hand to hand combat assessments did _not_ actually involve the recruits fighting Bumblebee or Ironhide; instead, the pair of Autobots set them against each other and then just sat back to witness the results.

Arcee was, as expected, the best on the sparring mat. She took down her opponents with ruthless efficiency, striking at their weak points before delivering a decisive punch or kick that threw them out of the fight. Hank was the first who suffered a hit to his nether regions, a move that had all the observers wincing. (Ironhide applauded Arcee's use of it, but asked her to reserve its use to the actual battlefield.) Springer was also a beast once he got hands on his opponent, using some wrestling moves he'd picked up from older cousins to pin the other person to the mat. Blurr made the most of his speed, dodging any hits that came his way, but had a trickier time throwing any worthwhile strikes of his own that tended to have Ironhide call time on his matches. Perhaps scariest out of the recruits were Warpath and Cliffjumper, both of whom could launch some pretty powerful punches, and neither of whom were ever _that_ hurt by the blows they received from the others.

Hank... felt more and more like a punching bag as the orn drew on. He didn't manage to win a single spar, instead experiencing the pain and bruises build until he was having a hard time getting up at all from his seat on the floor. When it came time to break for lunch, he waved the others on and just stayed in the training center, ignoring the looks of concern sent his way. Hank was surprised and more than a little touched when the kid, Bee, came back a breem or two later with some food for him.

"Thanks," he said earnestly, getting a small grin in return. The boy then sat cross legged on the ground beside him, pulling a small datapad out of his pants' pocket. As Hank ate slowly, Bee typed up something on the screen for him to see.

 _I'm guessing you've never been in a real fight before?_

"Yeah, no, not like this." Hank swallowed his mouthful of food. "Back home, it was more like the occasional scuffle between kids, and the tanning our parents would give us afterwards was always worse than any injuries from actual hits."

Bee nodded in understanding, taking the pad back and typing out another message. _I can help you get better! Lots of Autobots have taught me how to take down opponents bigger than me, which for you would be half the training group._

"I'd really appreciate that." Hank told him. "Anytime you can spare, I'll be here." The kid beamed at him.

 _That's great! We'll probably want to space out our practice with the actual training days, or you'll be so tired that it's hard to do well at all._

"Yeah, the whole point would be to make it _harder_ to kick my butt, not _easier."_ Hank's smile turned into a frown when it looked like Bee was silently laughing. "Hey, um, I hope you don't take offence to this, but do you make any noise at all?"

Instantly, the kid quit smiling and instead tensed up, growing pensive. Hank started to apologize and say forget about it, but Bee had already taken the datapad back.

 _It's... Hard to explain. For as long as I've lived here, whenever I try to talk or laugh or cry, or anything really, it's like there's a voice at the back of my head saying it's a bad idea and I can't. My throat just closes up, and nothing comes out._

"That's, kind of awful, kid."

 _Yeah, well, it's just the way I am. I work around it._ Hank watched the downcast expression, wishing he hadn't brought it up at all.

"So... ten vorns with the Autobots, huh? Bet you've seen some pretty epic stuff." Bee shrugged at that, but answered anyway.

 _I've never left Ark Valley, so I haven't seen any battles, if that's what you mean. I always watch for when people come back from missions, though, and run to tell Ratchet and First Aid how many wounded we've got._

"Oh."

 _I have, however, gotten to help out with some awesome pranks before._

"Oh? That sounds a little more up my alley."

Bee smirked at him. _When the training assessments are done, remind me to introduce you to the Twins._

-HF-ST-

Conversation with Bee aside, Hank's orn of sparring had gone miserably, and he woke up the next morning feeling stiff and sore all over. Springer had to actually come over and help him get up out of bed. When Ironhide arrived, and saw the state that the youth was in, he ordered the others to head outside to join Arcee for their workout, while the crusty old soldier himself led Hank to the building where the medical bay was located.

"Now, whatever ya do," 'Hide told him as they approached the doors. "Do _not_ tell Ratchet it was my fault - or I'll have you sparring with Arcee for a vorn, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Honestly, Hank was too much in pain to say anything else. Ironhide nodded, opened the door, and immediately had to duck the metal brace chucked at his head.

"'HIDE! I warned you what would happen if I had to treat another one of you recruits!"

"Right, well, good luck kid." With that, he clapped Hank on the shoulder and took off down the hallway. Ratchet appeared in the doorway, cursing as his prey escaped. The he turned his glare onto Hank, glowering at he took in the youth's tense posture and haggard appearance.

"Alright, get in here, Hot Rod was it?"

"Um, yes, sir." Cautiously, Hank followed him into the bay, ready to dodge any tools thrown his way. The young woman watching from the hair end of the bay was watching them with an apologetic smile.

"Don't worry," she called, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. "Ratchet's just annoyed that 'Hide broke his promise not to break anymore newcomers."

"Aid, where'd I leave the bone scanner?"

"Counter top to your left." As the doctor let out a triumphant noise as he located the tool and set to checking Hank for any breaks or fractures, the woman made her way over to shake the youth's hand. "First Aid, Assistant Field Medic, nice to meet you."

"Uh, hi, I'm Hot Rod. Er, new recruit, as you've clearly noticed." He tried grinning at her, only to wince as Ratchet concluded his scan and smacked the device against Hank's head.

"No flirting with my assistant." Instantly, the youth tried to protest as Aid let out an annoyed huff.

"Ratchet, not every young man who comes in here is trying to flirt with me. And even if one was, it's my sister and brothers' job to chase him off, _not yours."_ She told him sternly, before shooting an apology to Hank. "Sorry about that, I swear he's starting to turn into my father."

"Uh, no, that's fine. I totally get it. No romantic silliness anywhere near the medical bay." He held up his hands in position of surrender, hissing in pain when Ratchet took the opportunity to start probing his torso.

"Well, at least this one learns fast," the medic muttered. "Shirt off."

As Hank striped off the article of clothing, he caught the identical expressions of concern on Ratchet and First Aid's faces once they saw the layer of multi-colored skin.

"What in the Pit is that idiot _doing_ to them?" Aid wondered, heading off to grab the muscle relaxant and bruise salve.

"Actually, this was mostly Arcee and Cliffjumper's doing. A little bit of Blurr and Springer. Pretty sure there's a couple imprints from Warpath's fists in here somewhere, too..."

Ratchet snorted at him, pulling up a blank medical file on his monitor screen that he started to fill in. "What, did they just elect to make you the training dummy for the orn?"

"Sure felt that way at the time... Fortunately, though, Bee stuck around after the session and promised he'd help improve my chances of holding my own."

"Good for him!" Ratchet approved while Aid looked a little ill.

"Why you lot had to go and teach that sweet little boy how to fight is beyond me," she shook her head.

"If you'd gotten here about six vorns earlier than you did, girl, you might have had a say about that. As it is, every person in this base would like to see that 'sweet little boy' survive this war, no matter what happens to the rest of us."

Hank got the uneasy impression he'd managed to send them into another round of what sounded like a well-repeated argument. He just hoped that the pair of medics wouldn't start throwing things at each other, because then he'd be stuck right in the firing line...

Once the medicinal goop had been rubbed into his abused skin, Hank was released to go rejoin the other trainees, under strict orders to return that night for a check-up before he went to bed. Just as he stepped out of the bay, wondering where the heck he was supposed to go for the 'tactical' assessments, a cough from further down the hall caught his attention. He recognized the young man leaning against the wall as the one who'd been eating with Bluestreak a couple of orns before.

"Hi, um, Smokescreen?" Hank asked, approaching him.

"Yep, that's me. I was told to come wait until you'd been released from the Hatchet's lair." The other guy grinned, tilting his helmet a bit as he stood up straight. "C'mon, your friends are working through the tactics test in one of Prowl's briefing rooms."

It took Hank a klik to run through the names Kup had mentioned in the mountains and pick out this one. "Uh, he's the Second in Command around here, right?"

"Bingo, we've got a winner!" They left the building behind, heading for the command center and dodging various Autobots going about their business. Once the two hit the quieter staircase, Hank spoke up again.

"...Doesn't he have more important things to do than test rookies?"

"Nah, Prowler always wants first crack at seeing who might make good officer material. It's his way of making sure no more Jazzes slip into the chain of command." Smokescreen smirked at Hank's confused expression. "Don't get me wrong, having those two work together on a battle strategy means it'll be the best we've got, but back when they first had to start working together, those two _hated_ each other. And Prowl has _no_ inclination whatsoever to inflict someone with a similar personality type onto himself to try and order around."

"...I see."

"So you say, but it'll be easier to understand once you've been here a while."

"How long do recruits usually stick around? Since this is the Headquarters base and all."

"Eh, depends on what your talents are and how quickly groups finish their training. Usually, the first five orns are the basic assessments, after which you get assigned to a particular division, undergo another groon or two of specialized training, and then are either good enough to stay here or join up with one of our mobile units. I'll go ahead and let you in on a little secret, Roddy - there aren't nearly as many of us as the Cons and Neutrals think."

He frowned. "What, you mean there aren't armies of Autobots defending the northern city-states?"

"I don't know the exact numbers - actually, I'm pretty sure only the top officers do - but at most? We have two dozen units of as many as ten or so operatives out in the field at all times, a couple bases half the size of this one, the various Wilds Dweller and Roamer agents, and the sixty or so people here."

Hank felt his jaw dropping, but didn't particularly care. "But that- that's _maybe_ four hundred Autobots! Against-"

"Against over two thousand Decepticon Imperials, yeah. Which is why we don't have very many actual battles, compared to small skirmishes and guerilla warfare. It's also why we place so much emphasis on training the few newcomers we get, especially with tactics." By this point, the pair had come to a stop beside the closed door of a room labelled _207: Mission De/Briefs 3._

Smokescreen vented a quick sigh before offering Hank a smile. "It's not so bad. As long as we're careful not to take unnecessary risks, we don't lose too many people. I think it's worse for those folks that the Cons have suckered or forced into joining their ranks. Anyway, this is your stop, and just bear in mind all that I've said." With that, the man turned and strode away, leaving Hank to enter the room alone.

The first thing he noticed were the looks of concentration each of his friends wore as they worked on computer screens at a row of desks. Then there was Ironhide standing at the back, as imposing as ever but appearing relieved that Hank was still in one piece. And beside the Weapons Specialist was a man dressed like both Smokescreen and Bluestreak, frowning first at Hank and then the remaining empty desk.

Taking the hint, he hurried over and activated the test waiting for him. Looking over the questions, Hank realized they were all combat scenarios, requiring written explanations from the recipient as to what they'd do with certain weaponry and teammates.

 _...Maybe four hundred Autobots... Against over two thousand Decepticon Imperials..._

 _...Which is why we don't have very many actual battles, compared to small skirmishes and guerilla warfare..._

 _...Not so bad, as long as we're careful not to take unnecessary risks..._

Right then. Time to see how much damage he could do, risking as few lives as possible.

-HF-ST-

When everyone had finished the tactical assessments, Ironhide sent them off to lunch and said that they had the rest of the orn to relax. Still mulling over all the insights he'd had to the Autobots over the last few orns, Hank wasn't much in the mood for conversation, so after finishing his meal he headed outside to wander around the base for a while.

All the vorns that he'd imagined the heroics, the glory and fame, he'd never much thought about what the actual reality of the War was. Hillitrex had been too far into the mountains to have its own Communications Hub like most towns, which was why most of their information came word of mouth from travellers passing through. Even so, when Hank was a kid and the War officially began, Sam Witwicky had come back one orn from Iacon with a recording of the message that the newly risen Autobot leader had sent out to every Hub across Cybertron.

" _My name is Optimus Prime,and I would ask all citizens of our world to take heed of this message. We have been deceived as to the intentions of these Imperials..."_

He'd sat and listened to every replay of that recording as townsfolk came and went from the Witwicky home, ignoring their whispered worries and concerns. All that had mattered at the time was the confidence, the surety in that voice as the man behind it swore that he and his people would fight with every weapon they had to remove the renamed Decepticons.

Lost in memory, it took a flash of yellow darting across his field of vision to bring Hank back to the present. He watched as Bumblebee ran to where a brown haired man was leaving the command center. The man grinned and knelt, opening his arms so the kid could throw himself into them. Laughing, the brunette stood, allowing Bee to scramble around until he was perched on the guy's broad shoulders, eagerly pulling out his datapad and holding it down to be read. Hank found himself smiling as he watched, wondering who the guy was. He knew it couldn't _actually_ be Bumblebee's dad, since Kup said the kid had been found and brought to the Autobots vorns ago...

The man that Bee was sitting on looked up, caught his eye, and waved Hank over. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, he jogged forward, smiling as Bumblebee waved to him.

"Is it just me, or have you gotten taller?" He joked, getting the kid to silently snicker. The man also smiled, handing the datapad back up.

"So, you're this Hot Rod I've heard so much about." Face reddening, Hank wondered exactly who he'd been hearing from.

"Yeah, that's me. And you are?" Perched above him, Bee looked down at the man expectantly.

"Oh, just call me Op, that's what this rascal uses." Even without turning his head, the guy was able to reach up and poke Bee in the side. Startled, the kid batted his hand away with an annoyed scowl, but Hank could see the glee in his bright blue eyes.

"Okay, Op, I hope you don't mind me asking, but who exactly has been saying what about me?"

"Well, to start, Bumblebee here is quite happy to finally have someone to teach combat skills too. I should say, though, had he not already offered, Ironhide's report on the sparring assessments would have gotten you immediate instruction anyway." Tall and muscular as he may have been, Op didn't seem imposing in the slightest with a small twelve vorn old perched on his shoulders and making faces at what he was saying. Hank was hard pressed not to laugh out loud.

"Guess I shouldn't be too surprised by that," he said instead.

Op merely nodded, dislodging Bee's folded arms, and started to turn away before pausing. "Would you care to join us? Bumblebee and I were just about to take our usual stroll around the base."

"Oh! Uh, sure, if you don't mind." The kid was nodding enthusiastically, while Op just gave him a gentle smile. "Okay then."

As they walked along the dirt path that circled the valley's perimeter, Hank was further surprised by the banter that went back and forth between the two. They made an effort to include him in the conversation (where he came from, his family, what he liked to do in his spare time, that sort of thing), but it was clear that the pair were used to this time just being for them.

"How long have you two been doing this?" Hank found himself asking at one point.

"Oh, almost for as long as we've both been here." Op smiled. "I was one of the soldiers who found Bee when he was a toddler, and more often than not in those early days my wife and I found ourselves being the ones to take care of him. Little rascal was always trying to slip out from under our noses..."

Bee bopped him on top of the head.

"...And succeeded more often than not! We'd find him in the strangest places, especially after he started using the ventilation shafts as a path of travel. Anyway, I started bringing him out here for an afternoon walk in order to wear out some of his energy before naptime."

Huffing, Bee dropped his head down to bury his face in Op's hair, getting the other two to chuckle at his embarrassment.

"I bet he was a lot smaller then." Hank mentioned, getting Op to hum in agreement. "So... Are you guys planning on letting him fight when he turns eighteen?"

Bee raised his head cautiously as Op's good cheer turned to something darker. "I... Am sincerely hoping to War is over by then. We all do. It is a hard enough thing to send others' children into battle..." He trailed off, but Hank could easily imagine what the man would have said next: _But to send one's own is another matter entirely._

Yet another thing he hadn't thought about when contemplating the War.

"I always thought, growing up, that wars and battles were about winning for the greater good, earning glory to go with your name, and that the good guys always won over the bad." Hank said slowly, hardly believing he was bringing it up. "But, it's not that simple, is it?"

"Very rarely." Op rumbled, tightening slightly the grip he had on Bee's ankles where they dangled by his chest. "The greater good is indeed what we strive for, but not at the cost of lives that the Decepticons are continually willing to sacrifice. Glory, I have found, only serves to make you target on the battlefield, hence why we try to work quietly as much as possible, up until battle breaks out. And as for good triumphing over evil... In the end, that is what we hope for. Until then, losses have to be dealt with as much as victories." As he spoke, the man's voice had gotten deeper, causing Hank to frown as he noted something familiar about it.

They completed the rest of the walk in silence after that, until Op bid the young recruit a good night cycle, and headed off to the officers' barracks with Bee still perched atop him. It wasn't until the two were out of sight that Hank realized he'd never gotten the man's actual designation, or found out who he was in the Autobot ranks.

None of his friends recognized the description of the guy when Hank brought him up at dinner, though they all listened rather intently when he passed on the man's words about the War. Later, when he returned to the medical bay so Ratchet could satisfy himself that the bruises were all healing, Hank asked the old doctor if he knew who Op was. The startled look was enough to give him an affirmative, but then Ratchet started laughing and saying that the rookie would get to officially meet him the next orn. Disappointed, Hank was forced to go to sleep that night wondering about the mystery of it.

-HF-ST-

After the morning run on their fifth orn in Ark Valley, Ironhide directed the recruits over to a separate track, where they could practice driving various vehicle types that the army used for transport and missions. As usual, there was someone new waiting to help out with their assessments.

"Hey, Roddy," Springer nudged him. "Is that the guy you talked to yesterday?" Startled, Hank confirmed that is was, indeed, Op. Now, though, the man was wearing a red and blue armored jacket, with a large blaster hung from his shoulder and a longsword at his hip, as well as a stylized helmet tucked under under his arm.

"Boys and girl, it's my honor to introduce ya t' the Autobot leader himself, Optimus Prime."

Hank nearly choked.

The grown men looked on with amusement as not just Hank, but all of the recruits turned some variation of white or grey in their shock. It was a few minutes later that Ironhide finally got them moving again, once everyone had recovered somewhat. As always, they went through the order of the first day to start having each of the rookies try out the different vehicle types to show what skills they had. Surprisingly, this was the first thing that Arcee did pretty poorly at, never going above twenty miles per joor and clutching the handlebars or steering wheel with a death grip.

Hank, though, felt like he was finally able to make up for his miserable performance on the sparring mat. Behind the wheel of the scouting vehicle, a low, sleek four-wheeled car that felt like it was made especially for him, the youth really opened up the throttle and roared through the driving course, avoiding obstacles with a flourish and adding in a few donut spins just for good measure. When he got back to the others, Ironhide was staring at him with both eyebrows raised, while Prime appeared pretty pleased with the show.

Springer also got to spring a surprise on their instructor. "Oh, sure, everyone over the age of fifteen learned how to fly my great-uncle's helicopter." He told the flabbergasted old man. "I wouldn't say I'm a master at it, but-"

"But nothin', if ya can fly, then yer more'n likely gonna go inta our air forces." Thanks to that, Ironhide overlooked Springer's lack of ability maneuvering anything that wasn't a truck.

As could probably have been predicted, Blurr was almost as unwilling to pilot the different test vehicles as Arcee, again because of lack of prior experience. Prime promised them both that it wasn't that big an issue, and that each could probably learn to drive a two-wheeled motorcycle fairly easily.

Warpath had a bit of an issue when it came to _fitting_ into the actual driver's seats, thanks to his height and thick build. The space issue affected his driving talents a bit, but for the most part he came across as mediocre on all fronts. It was his cousin, though, who really took the prize that orn for having the most unexpected talent.

"You mind repeatin' that fer me, runt?" Ironhide asked in a tone of disbelief. Cliffjumper huffed in annoyance, but refrained from snapping at him.

"I _said,_ do you have any tanks I could try out? I helped my aunt fix up an old husk of one that been on our ranch back in the Coldhorn Slopes, and could pilot it pretty well, but I'd love to get my hands on a modern model."

"It's true, sir." Warpath piped up. "Tr- Cliff's not half bad with handling those behemoths." Both Ironhide and Prime exchanged a look, to which the former shrugged.

"Alright," Optimus told them. "You can try one of ours, under careful supervision and the stipulation that you not shoot anything. I've heard of your penchant for large explosions, and would rather not have to rebuild anymore of my base after the shooting range." Smart enough to look abashed, Cliffjumper quickly agreed, and Ironhide promised to arrange a time for it later in the deca-orn.

"And that," he addressed the lot of them. "Concludes your initial assessment period. Congratulations on making it this far; meet back at the training center after dinner tonight, and we'll have your personnel assignments for you."

The hours after his dismissal and the meeting time were torturous for the recruits to endure - they walked around the base, checked over their weapons, even went to get some more sparring practice in (though this was mostly Arcee and Cliffjumper). Finally, though, dinnertime came, and immediately after clearing their trays all six youths were back at the training center and waiting in their line. They were met by Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, Optimus and a young man who was introduced as Silverbolt.

"Cliffjumper, Warpath, the both of you have been designated as Iron Corps soldiers, the grunts of our forces, I'll admit, but with the possibility of you moving up to join our Wreckers unit." The cousins had mirroring expressions of awe, because while they'd expected to become basic warriors, the Wreckers were a legendary fighting force - the heaviest hitters that the army had.

"Arcee, you're advanced enough with the right weapons and fighting abilities that you'll be joining Jazz's Special Operations division." The girl nodded, relaxing slightly as she already knew that the organization was made up of spies and saboteurs - right up her alley.

"Blurr, you'll be going into the Scouting Corps, a specialized attachment of our spy and courier network who find and bring back information from right up to or even behind enemy lines." Knowing that this was a division made up only of the fastest of the fast, he didn't argue in the slightest.

"Springer, we made a last minute change to your assignment. At first, it looked like you'd be going Warpath and Ciffjumper, but since you've handled a copter before you'll be going into Silverbolt's Airborne Division."

"We're a bit of a motley crew, with all different types of aircraft, so you should fit right in," the other man offered, getting Springer to relax a little and nod his appreciation.

"And Hot Rod, excusing your truly _exceptional_ abilities as a living punching bag," this got a chuckle out of everyone, Hank included. "It's been decided you'll become one of the Cadets, the soldiers who study under various positions before joining our ranks of officers."

For the second time that day, Hank found himself facing a shocking piece of news. He was hardly listening as Ironhide wished them all good luck, didn't notice the awed and cheerful looks that the others shot him, and in fact didn't pay the slightest attention again until Optimus stepped forward to address them.

"I understand that being young can cause one to have different ideas about what war means, but I want to make it clear here and now that you all are official soldiers of the Autobot Army, and as such have placed yourselves into a less than desirable position. From now on, there will be those trying to kill you simply because of the symbol you wear, regardless of whether or not they truly support the one that _they_ bear." He looked each of them in the eye in turn as he spoke. "I do not ask that you give your lives to our cause, because for any spark to be extinguished is a grave loss indeed. Instead, I can only hope that you will each do your best to help us end this War, and restore Cybertron to a way of peace and equality."

This was the second time in his life that Hank Veer had listened to Optimus Prime make a speech that reached into his very soul. But it was the first time that he, as Hot Rod of the Autobots, silently swore to always follow this man, and try his best to uphold the same ideals.

 _A/N: Next projected update will be February 5th. 'Til then, be well, dear people willing to read this monster of a story._

 _-Triscribe_


	3. Chapter 3

Klik (Second)

Breem (Minute) 100 kliks

Joor (Hour) 60 breems

Orn (Day) 30 joors - 15 for a day cycle, 15 for a night cycle

Deca-orn (Week) 10 orns

Groon (Month) 3 deca-orns/30 orns

Vorn (Year) 14 groons/42 decaorns/420 orns

Chapter 3 - What's in a Name

"So, this is your new ride, huh? Funny, I almost mistook it for your old one!" Hank grinned as his best friend rolled his eyes.

"Ha, ha, hilarious. Do you want to see it or not?" Springer grumped, hoping up inside his personal helicopter, which was done over in a fresh coat of green and yellow paint, the same shades and pattern of the truck he'd had before the Cons blew it up outside of Hillitrex.

It had been almost two deca-orns since the recruits received their assignments, and in that time Hank had barely seen any of his friends. More often than not, he was working alongside Bluestreak, Smokescreen, the Security Director Red Alert, or the Communications officer Blaster and his quartet of nieces and nephews: Rewind, Steeljaw, Ramhorn, and Eject, also known as the Casseti Kids. Hank was still able to catch glimpses of the others around base, or even have meals with them once in a while, but his schedule was apparently different enough from the rest that they saw each other more often than he did.

Becoming an officer-in-training at the time had seemed like an honor - now, Hank was kind of wishing it had been held in reserve so that he could spend more time with people he actually _knew_.

The two of them had finally arranged to spend a joint morning off at the little airfield where Springer spent most of his time learning under Blades, the only other helicopter pilot stationed in the valley. He'd already expressed numerous time the sheer toughness of the woman and how much it could both scare and inspire him. Hank, having talked to First Aid a few more times since his initial med bay visit, mentioned that she and Blades were sisters, with three older brothers.

"I think Aid's so nice because she's the baby of the family, while her sister's the one who'd wrestle with their brothers." He explained as they sat aboard Springer's copter.

"Makes sense." The other trainee agreed. "So, I was thinking next that we'd-"

Whatever plans the young man had been considering, they were lost as a klaxon began to ring out over the entire Ark Valley. Instantly, figures started racing around between buildings, especially in and out of the Command center.

"What's going on?" Springer asked, startled as Hank swore and leapt to his feet.

"That's the third level emergency alert - Cons are attacking someplace with limited or no defences, and we're the closest ones to intervene." He explained. "I don't know if they're going to want us to join in or not, but-"

"Hot Rod!" A familiar figure was racing towards them. Blurr slid to a stop beside the copter, dust clinging to his blue and grey body suit. "Smokescreen said that Prime wants the six of us in Springer's helicopter, hovering over the battle and keeping an eye on what the Decepticons do." Coming up the path behind him were Arcee, Warpath and Cliffjumper. The cousins were looking out of breath, weighed down as they were by some added pieces of red armor, while the girl stayed close to make sure that they didn't get left behind. All of the trainees had their weapons with them, and the modified versions of their usual outfits that leant some protection from energy blasts and shrapnel.

"Well, let's get going then." As Springer started up his engines and Hank helped the others aboard, Autobots all throughout the valley were getting into their own vehicles to drive out the hidden entrance and make for the target. Once the others were seated, Hank joined his friend in the cockpit, grabbing the extra headset as he strapped himself into the co-pilot's seat.

 _*-ee Seeker flights bearing down on the Huckasee Dam and Power Station from the west, with a further four ground-bound groups approaching from the southern road. I want the usual formations in place to divert the Decepticons' attention from the Dam, while our Rescue Teams work to get the civilians out of harm's way. Top priority is protecting the structures, as the station provides power for Iacon and half a dozen smaller settlements in the foothills.*_ Once Prowl's voice cut out, others started clamoring over the airways to get their units into motion. Springer stayed silent as he lifted his copter into the air, circling the valley once to allow the team of Aerials time to clear out, before following Blades' orange aircraft on the flight path.

"Do you want us looking out the windows?" Arcee called up to the cockpit.

"Only once we actually get there, and then I might even have you guys open up the side hatch in order to shoot." Springer responded, keeping his eyes on the instruments and the view out his windshield. Hank noticed how tight his friend's grip was on the steering handles, and reached over a hand to poke at his shoulder.

"What?"

"Relax, dude. First big fight, do you really think that the veterans are really going to leave us to our own devices." Hank assured him with a cocky grin. "I'll bet that they go out of their way to make sure we don't get in over our heads."

Springer gave him a flat look. "The last time I followed your advice, we ended up running for our lives through a forest getting _shot at,_ followed very shortly by my truck being blown up."

"Yeah, but I'm older and wiser now." The other trainee snorted, but returned to his piloting duties wearing a small grin.

No one was smiling by the time they reached the target.

The Seeker flights had already made at least one strafing run, if the damages to the dam were any indication. On the ground, a stream of civilian workers were fleeing in a chaotic stream, trying to clear the structure before the Decepticon ground forces reached them. A trio of enemy jets zoomed down from the cloud cover, aiming to open fire on the helpless people below. Just in the nick of time, the Aerials came soaring out of nowhere and caught the Seekers in a crossfire, destroying one and forcing the other two to return to the clouds.

Below, the fastest of the Autobots arrived on the scene and immediately started trying to impose some order over the panicked civilians. Others started setting up a perimeter where they'd hold off the incoming enemy soldiers, and a handful more headed up to the dam itself to try and do some emergency repairs. As the pair of copters circled over the area, Hank strained himself to try and take note of all the details going on, before turning his attention to the dark shapes moving rapidly up the road towards the Autobots' position.

A sudden beeping from the sensor displays reclaimed his attention.

"Uh-oh," Springer muttered, turning them mid air so he could get a visual to confirm. "Guys, we've got incoming!"

"What, someone more than expected?" An annoyed voice called from the compartment behind them.

"Yeah, a couple of Con choppers inbound - they must have been hiding in the cliffs!" Sure enough, Hank could see a pair of airborne helicopters heading straight for them. One was a glossy black with purple markings while the other-

"Uhh, Springy, isn't that the ride of one of the Cons who chased you into my mom's eatery?" The pilot narrowed his eyes behind the visor of his helmet, and swore rather impressively.

"I thought you shot that crazy woman out of the sky!"

"I did! Clearly, they got her copter fixed up and flight worthy again!"

Ignoring the glare he was receiving, Springer reached over and pulled on the lever that would open the side door. "Warpath, Arcee, can you guys shoot at those two from here?"

"We can try!" Their friends quickly unstrapped themselves, grabbed up rifle and cannon respectively, and moved to the opening. Out of the windshield, Hank could see the light blue of the energon blasts shooting out towards the enemy copters. Almost immediately, Warpath's larger weapon managed to score a hit on the panelling of the grey and blue one, forcing the pilot to swerve away for safer airspace. Arcee's rifle, while not having the damage capability of the cannon, was able to force the other copter to dodge her shots. However, the enemy soon started to return fire from a pair of blasters mounted on the underside of the aircraft, and it was Springer's turn to try and avoid being hit - while preventing his unsecured passengers from falling out to their deaths.

"Hank, can you-" The request hadn't even been finished before he was leaving the co-pilot's seat behind, grabbing up his crossbow and moving to join Warpath and Arcee.

"If each of us shoots for a different spot around him, we can force this guy to take at least one hit!" The girl shouted at them over the sound of the rotors and force of the wind. "I've got lower left, Hot Rod takes lower right, and Warpath aims for the top!"

"Got it!" Both boys answered, taking aim as best they could. Springer banked and suddenly slowed, catching the other pilot by surprise and giving the shooters a perfect window of opportunity.

The three fired at once, and sure enough, in an effort to avoid Arcee and Warpath's blasts, the enemy copter swerved right into Hot Rod's. His explosive bolt lodged in the mechanics of one of the side-mounted guns, the blew up with enough force to rip apart the side of the aircraft. Unfortunately, the shockwave rattled _their_ copter as well, and Springer nearly lost control of the steering. Warpath was blown back into the seating compartment, knocking Hot Rod on his way, who in turn bumped into Arcee - and sent her out the door into the open air below.

" _RHEA!"_ Instantly, Hank was leaning over the threshold of the doorway, desperately hoping she'd managed to grab onto one of the landing skids. But there was no such luck - the girl was tumbling down away from them, getting closer and closer to the rocky ground below.

Suddenly, a pale grey grappling line appeared, shooting down to where Arcee could grab ahold of it. The black and purple Con copter, already straining from the damage Hank's bolt had done, carefully lowered itself at a sedate pace, before releasing the cable and dropping the shocked Autobot trainee the last couple yards onto her feet, alive and intact.

Then the copter flew away as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Hank watched all of this, baffled, but beyond relieved that Arcee was okay. He yelled for Springer to take them down to get her, which the confused pilot did. As soon as they were close enough to the ground, Hank leapt from the copter and sprinted to where his friend was sitting, still stunned.

"Arcee? ...Rhea?" The dark haired girl turned her shocked gaze towards him. "Are you okay?"

"...I just fell two hundred feet before a Con saved my life, and that's the question you blurt out?" She asked, incredulous.

"Alright, fair enough, but are you hurt?"

"My- my arm got wrenched, grabbing onto the cable, but aside from that I think I'm okay." Blurr ran up to join them, and together he and Hank got Arcee on her feet and back into the copter. Above them, Blades had finally noticed something was wrong and was circling protectively over their position.

"We're gonna have fun explaining this one when we get back home, aren't we?" Cliffjumper said dryly as he and his shame-faced cousin stood by the door, weapons ready for any approaching hostiles.

"I'll handle it," Hank said, thinking of his explosive crossbow bolt. Cliff started to nod, but then his eyes locked onto something back amid the jumbled boulders. Instantly, the youth's blaster was up and firing, prompting his cousin and Blurr to do the same. After making sure Arcee was secured back in her seat, Hank grabbed up his weapon and turned to join the others.

A group of Decepticons had been moving on foot along the cliffs to try and flank the defending Autobot forces, and instead came upon the group of trainees. They were almost entirely equipped with cannons and large blasters, eagerly firing upon the youths by the copter, who were giving as good as they got. Blurr and Hank fired a pair of flares, temporarily blinding the opposition as Springer yelled for the lot of them to get back into the copter.

They started to do so, just as a monster of an armored truck roared up to and through the group of Cons. Two of them screamed as they were crushed underneath its wheels and weight, while the others scrambled away in a panic. When the truck halted, its driver's side door was thrown open, and Ironhide came out with a war cry.

Intimidating as the man may have been during training sessions, his usual attitude didn't come anywhere close to how terrifying this visage was.

Made larger by the red battle armor he wore, the man tore through the Decepticons with nothing more than a single handed blaster and a medium sized energon axe. The trainees watched with open-mouthed awe as Ironhide obliterated almost a dozen enemy troops in as many seconds. When he'd shot down the last of those trying to flee, the old soldier turned his murderous gaze onto the frozen trainees.

"What in the fraggin' Pit are y'all just standin there for?!" He bellowed, getting them to jump and start moving again. "Git back in th' air already!" Growling as he stomped forward to yell at them some more, Ironhide didn't notice a presumed-dead Con suddenly lift himself from the ground and take aim at the oblivious Autobot's back.

Hank noticed, though.

"'Hide! Behind-" The old soldier whirled, the shot singing his hip instead of hitting him square on. Ironhide then retaliated by throwing his axe, smiling with grim satisfaction when it decapitated the unfortunate Con.

Wanting to make sure that the Weapons Specialist was okay, Hank started to move forward, only for Warpath to grab him by the back of his shirt and bodily haul the smaller youth into the copter. Cliffjumper yelled to Springer that they were aboard, and the pilot pulled them up off the ground.

Below, Ironhide raised an eyebrow at the departing copter, taking note of Hot Rod's concerned expression before the door sealed shut.

"Hmph. Rookies." He muttered, marching back to his still rumbling truck.

The rest of the battle finished up pretty quickly after that. The Autobots had become thoroughly entrenched by the time the Decepticon ground forces arrived, and were able to drive them off without too much trouble. Left without back-up, the Seekers quickly broke off their strafing runs in favor of retreating as well. The dam and power station were mostly intact, and aside from a few injuries here and there, the Autobots didn't suffer any casualties. Possibly the most noteworthy thing about the whole fight was Arcee falling out of Springer's helicopter (which more than a few people berated the trainees for on the way back to Ark Valley) and her subsequent saving at the hands of a Con (which no one felt comfortable mentioning). As soon as everyone arrived home safely, Ratchet and First Aid had taken those who needed treatment or looking over to the med bay, leaving the rest of the troops to their debriefs and cool-downs from the battle.

As he'd promised, Hank was the one to fully explain to Prime and the other officers about the Con chopper. Unfortunately for him, Prowl was of a mind to make use of the situation.

"We of course keep detailed files on as many of the Decepticon command element as we can, but also make an effort to record as much as possible about the lesser members of their forces, in case anyone ever makes an attempt at defecting," the man explained to Hank as he led him to the archives building. "If you or Arcee could sort through anything we have on enemy copter pilots and find a match, we'll add it to the file and possibly send a spy in to make contact and see how much the Decepticon is truly loyal to Megatron and his Imperials."

When they entered the building, Hank's first impression was that the archives didn't look like _too_ big a mess to go through. Then he realized that the boxes stacked up in the entrance hall were just the stuff that hadn't been sorted yet. Prowl continued to lead him on several yards, past one door after another, until they reached one simply labelled _Enemy Aircraft._ Inside _that_ room were easily a dozen shelving units reaching from floor to ceiling, completely filled with boxes of papers and files - some neat, most not.

Prowl at least had the decency to look slightly remorseful. "It's been too long since we've been able to properly organize these, so look for anything you can find on helicopter pilots and go from there. If this room doesn't turn up anything, you can try digging through the unsorted files we passed."

"...Right." Hank said weakly. "Do you want me to just look through them in here, or take it to Arcee too?"

"Is she still in the medical bay?"

"Yeah. I don't think Ratchet's planning on letting her back out for an orn or two, as well."

The Autobot officer hummed. "Well, I'd like you to begin on this as soon as possible, and I doubt Ratchet would object _too_ strongly should you bring a box or two to the med bay for Arcee to sort through."

Sighing, Hank just nodded his acceptance. "Guess I'd better get started, then."

When he finally made it to dinner that evening, all of Hank's friends not being held prisoner in the Ratchet's domain were waiting for him. In between shovelling spoonfuls of food into his mouth, the exhausted trainee gradually explained about what he'd been doing since the battle that morning.

"Why can't we help with this?" Springer asked, a tad concerned. "I mean, all of us saw that copter, so why are just you and Arcee-?"

Swallowing his last mouthful, Hank laid out Prowl's reasoning. "It counts for my officer training, in a way, and 'Cee's the only one of you guys who isn't going to be immediately busy with training again, since Ratchet's got her on bed rest for a while, followed by a period of limited exertion."

"Oh. That bites." They all had a quick laugh at Blurr's blunt assessment of the situation.

"Yeah, yeah it does... Still, if I need a break from it, Prowl said I'm welcome to take a look at some of the other records rooms and read anything that seems interesting."

"...Seriously? The only thing you get to do when not going through old paperwork is look at other paperwork?" Cliffjumper grimaced. "That sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me."

"Only because you don't reading in the first place, mister leap first, think second." Warpath retorted in a dry tone, causing his cousin to redden as the other boys chuckled.

"Hey, that reminds me, Cliff - why'd Ironhide give you the codename that he did? It's been bugging me a bit lately."

Immediately, Hank found himself the recipient of a warning glare so dire he was surprised the flesh didn't melt off of his bones. Clearly the other youth wasn't about to talk about whatever story there was behind his Autobot designation.

Warpath, though, was completely eager to share.

"Oh, that's a good one. We were kids, about to become teenagers-"

"War-"

"-and Cliff got it in his head to have a right of passage-"

"Warpath, I'm warning you-!"

"-so he got all the local eleven and twelve vorn olds together at the top of the Rusted Cliff-"

"Warren!"

"-in order for the lot of us to jump off and into the river!"

"Primus fraggit, Warren Palomine, if you keep going with this stupid story-" By this point, the shorter of the two cousins had gotten out of his chair and was either trying to silence or strangulate Warpath, who kept pushing his hands away and laughing as the others watched with silent amusement.

"So, because no one else was willing, Trenton here decided to go first to show the others how it was done-" Cliffjumper cursed, finally getting a hand slapped over his cousin's mouth.

"I think I can see where this is going." Springer said dryly.

"Enjoyed diving into river water, did you Trent?" Hank snickered.

Warpath finally got his gag out of the way and finished up his tale to Cliff's dismay. "He never made it to the river! Poor kid sank into mud up to his neck, and had to wait almost three joors before our Gran came with a pair of mud boots and a long enough cable to haul him out!"

"WARREN!" Deciding that he needed to get away from the now murderous Cliff, Warpath leapt to his feet and fled the mess hall, laughing all the way. Cliffjumper chased after him, spewing one dire threat after another. The pair ended up running right past Ironhide and Optimus, who looked after them with confusion before heading towards the remaining trainees.

"Dare I ask?" 'Hide raised an eyebrow as he came up to them, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction that the cousins had gone.

"Warpath was just telling us the story about Cliffjumper actually jumping off a cliff when they were kids," Hank explained. "Which makes me wonder, sir, how is it that you knew that story?"

Ironhide stiffened as Optimus looked at him with amusement dancing in his eyes. "None a' yer business, kid." The Weapons Specialist finally said, stalking off to get his food.

"I believe it's a personal matter," Prime found himself saying as three sets of eyes swung to look at him questioningly. "You might actually find something to explain it during your time in the archive building, Hot Rod."

The Autobot leader then strolled off, leaving three baffled trainees behind him.

-HF-ST-

Heading back to his work sorting through files the next morning, Hank decided to follow Optimus' vague advice. When he reached the inevitable point that searching for mention of the purple and black copter became unbearable, the youth left the _Aircraft_ room behind and went wandering until he found the door labelled _Autobot Members._ Inside, there were just as many boxes of files as the other rooms, but at least these had some semblance of being organized. Four shelves towards the back were prominently designated as _Dead_ or _Missing,_ but all the others were _Active Personnel._ Smaller labels further organized Autobots by division, and Hank looked around until he found _Officers._ All the way at the end of the row, in between an Ultra Magnus and Chromia, he found the substantial box with Ironhide's name on it.

Pulling it out, Hank started to flip through multiple pages about the old man's past battles and exploits, a copy of his medical file, even mentions of some specialized weapons he'd personally designed. Finally, the youth found what he was looking for - a short few paragraphs on 'Hide's background from nearly twenty vorns before:

 _Vorn 2567 in the Third Age of Cybertron_

 _Name: Hepley, Travis_

 _Occupation: Bodyguard to Alphius Tran, Senator of Iacon_

 _Position within Autobots: Weapons Specialist, Basic Training Instructor_

 _Known Relations: Wife (Hepley, Cynthia (see Chromia)), Son (Hepley, Trevor) (Deceased), Daughter (Palomine nee Hepley, Tia), Son-in-Law (Palomine, Mason), Daughter-in-Law (Hepley nee Kursen, Kristin), Grandsons (Palomine, Warren; Hepley, Trenton)._

Hank nearly dropped the file in shock.

Numbly, he put everything back on the shelf, and in a daze shuffled back to the other room to continue his search. For the rest of the orn, Hank did things with a mechanical efficiency, still rolling his startling discovery around in his head, slowly but surely coming up with more than enough similarities between Ironhide and the cousins - his _grandsons,_ for Primus' sake! - to confirm the relation.

By the time the afternoon rolled around and Hank was bringing another box to Arcee to sort through, his mind was still in a fog, and a concerned First Aid had the youth sit down before he walked into a wall.

"Alright, what the frag's the matter with you?" Arcee asked as soon as both of the medics were out of earshot.

"Still can't believe it." Hank mumbled in reply.

"Can't believe what?" Haltingly, he explained to her about the odd event the orn before at dinner, and how Prime had suggested Hank could find the reason why if he went and poked through the Autobot files. He stalled then, and it took Arcee's careful coaxing to get the other trainee to state the fact that had held him in shock ever since.

" _GRANDSONS?"_ Unfortunately, the girl's yelp when he finally did instantly attracted Ratchet's attention, and the pair were hard-pressed not to divulge the details of what they'd just been discussing. "You mean those bone-brains are actually related to the King of Cranky?" Arcee hissed once the old medic had finally moved off again.

"Apparently."

Shaking her head, the girl sank back into the cushioned headboard of her medical berth. "Huh." She sent a look Hank's way. "Do you think Kup knew?"

Opening his mouth to answer, Hank had to pause and think on it first. "...Yeah, yeah I think he must have. He said that he and Ironhide were old friends, and considering how much Kup fussed at the cousins when they were being idiots..."

"He probably wanted to try and get them into shape a bit before their grandfather had a chance to meet them." Arcee's eyes widened. "Oh Primus. Trenton and Warren - _they_ don't know, do they?"

"Nope. Or else I doubt the first orn would have gone by without _some_ show of a family relationship. I'm not sure they realize their grandmother's an Autobot, either."

Arcee's jaw dropped, and Hank hurried to go on. "Y'know how much they've said that their Gran was a scary lady when torqued off, but that she'd bring them souvenirs from whenever she went travelling? In 'Hide's file, the different relations section where I found Cliff and Warpath's names was headed by a Cynthia Hepley, with a note to see Chromia, which was the name on the next box down the shelf."

"Fraggin' Primus on a pogo stick." Arcee said. "...We're not allowed to tell anyone, are we?"

"Well... Prime might have given me roundabout permission, but I don't think it's technically allowed to go snooping through people's personnel files without good cause, so probably not. I'm not dropping this just yet, though."

"What? Why?"

"I want to find out if Ironhide's really aware that those two are his grandsons, and why he hasn't said anything to them if he does know."

"Okay, I've heard from Springer that you sometimes confuse bravery with stupidity, but that is _beyond_ idiotic!" Arcee glowered at him. "Ironhide's gonna know you went through his file, and Primus help you when he decides how best to punish you for it."

Hank sighed. "I know it's stupid, but I've got to know. I am, however, planning on taking a living shield with me."

-HF-ST-

When Hank came to Bumblebee with his request, the kid looked at him like he was crazy. Then the trainee started explaining everything from the beginning, and the tiny blonde rolled his eyes.

 _Of course Ironhide knows the cousins are the sons of his kids._ Bee wrote out on his datapad. _But he never mentions it so that they don't ask him for special favors, or so that others accuse him of nepit- nepots-_

"Nepotism?" Hank said allowed, saving the kid from his struggle to remember the word.

 _Yeah, that one._

"Okay, that's all fine and dandy - but I don't believe there isn't more to it." Huffing, Bee shook his head and took Hank by the hand, dragging the startled trainee off down the hallway. He just went along with it, though he did falter a tad upon realizing that the kid was leading him straight to Ironhide's little-used office. "Uh..."

When they reached the door, Bumblebee didn't even bother knocking - he just punched in the access code and marched right inside, still hauling Hank after him.

Ironhide glanced up from some paperwork he was organizing, narrowing his eyes at the pair over the tiny spectacles he was wearing. "What?" The old man barked.

Bee finally released Hank's hand, marched over 'Hide's side of the desk and slapped down the datapad, with his earlier statement still displayed. Ironhide stared at it. Hank stared at him. Bumblebee crossed his arms and alternated glaring at the both of them. Finally, the old Autobot stirred slightly, glancing down at the fluffy haired child.

"Nepotism, pipsqueak? Aren't ya supposed t' be some sorta walkin' dictionary?" He asked with a hint of a smile. Bee threw his hands up in the air, snatched the pad back and stalked out of the office, leaving Hank to face Ironhide by himself. Which, the youth thought in the back of his mind, had definitely _not_ been the plan.

Ironhide raised an eyebrow at him, before gesturing the the chair set in front of his desk. "So. Did you come straight from the archives, or have you been stewing over this most of the day?"

"Uh... I, um, went looking this morning. Kinda was in shock until about half a joor ago, when I talked to Arcee about it. You aren't, uh, mad?"

"Well, I'm a tad irritated that Optimus wins our bet, but other than that, not really."

Hank blinked at him. "I'm sorry - _bet?!"_ The old soldier chuckled at him.

"Eh, don't look so surprised, kid. Officers gotta stay entertained somehow too, y'know. And Prime was willing t' wager a box of my favorite beer that ya'd go pokin' 'round before mid-orn, while I figured ya wouldn't 'til t'night, maybe even t'morrow." He laughed louder at Hank's shocked expression.

"That's nice to know, I guess." The youth said faintly.

"Gives ya a better idea of who we are, at any rate." Ironhide smirked. "Yer startin' the route to joinin' our upper ranks, Hot Rod. It's pretty standard fer prospective officers t' undergo somethin' like this."

"Oh."

"Th' fact tha' my grandkids are among yer group was just a handy opportunity. We come up with different things dependin' on who's bein' tested. That's not t' say, though, that yer allowed t' go spreadin' any o' this around, got it?"

"Yes sir! But, um..." Ironhide waited for the youth to get his words together. "Why don't they know?"

"Who know?"

"Cliff and Warpath. _You_ clearly know who _they_ are, but _they_ don't seem to know who _you_ are!"

Sighing, the old soldier stood and went over to a shelf at the back of the office. He pulled a photograph out from under a stack of files, and brought it over for Hank to see. In the picture was an Ironhide of vorns past, with more brown than grey hair, alongside an extremely petite woman about the same age and a pair of younger adults who could only have been their children. And held within 'Hide's muscular arms were a pair of chubby babies, happily attempting to fight one another as their grandfather beamed.

"Tha' was the last time I got t' see those boys with my own eyes," Ironhide said softly as Hank handed the photo back. "Th' next day all five of 'em started off fer home. Those were th' days 'fore the Autobots were official,'n before we started usin' codenames t' protect our loved ones."

Hank closed his eyes involuntarily, realizing where the story was going. "You son - he died because someone knew how you two were related, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. Cynthia had nightmares for groons after th' attack, convinced she could've done more t' prevent it than just fought 'long side Trevor. Was later that vorn that I suggested th' idea o' usin' other names t' protect our families."

" _You_ were the one who started that?"

"Mm. Wasn't 'spectin' it t' be such a big thing, I'll be honest." They continued to sit in silence for a while.

"Ironhide?" Hank finally spoke up. "Thanks. For telling me all this, I mean. And for not being mad about my sticking my nose where it doesn't go."

"Yer welcome, kid. Just do me a favor an' don' go spreadin' it around, yeah?"

"Sure - can I tell Arcee, though? Since she already knows some of it."

"That's fine. Now, git outta here, I got work to do." Hank grinned and gave him a quick salute, before hurrying out of the office and back towards the medical bay. He made sure to slow down before entering, not wanting to attract Ratchet's irritated attention, but found it hard not to bounce over to Arcee's berth.

"Rhea! You're never gonna guess how well things went and what else Ironhide told me- Rhea?"

Sitting upright on the bed, documents and files spread out around her, Arcee was pale and shaking as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hands. Worried, Hank moved to where he could see it too.

There were a few notes detailing a description that matched the Con copter from the battle, alongside a blurry photo of said copter with a young woman climbing into it. Even before he saw the caption below the picture, Hank had a sinking feeling in his stomach from the similarities he saw between the lady in the photo and Rhea herself.

Below it were the words: _Pilot believed to be assassin known as Airachnid, supposedly Raquel Curtis of Hivus City._

-HF-ST-

"Her _sister?!"_ Cliffjumper sat back in his chair, shocked by the news. "Arcee's big sister is a _Con?!"_

"Yeah. She didn't know either." Hank said sadly. After the revelation earlier that orn, he'd spent most of the evening comforting the grieving girl. Raquel had apparently been a great sister, the ultimate protector when the pair grew up surviving on the streets of Hivus. Then one morning, after more than two orns of the elder sister acting strange, she'd vanished from their safe haven in an unused factory. All that had been left behind was a note, promising Rhea that she'd find a box of supplies waiting for her once a deco-orn in one of their many hidey-holes across the city. She'd gone on surviving as best she could, until the vorn came when she found out the supplies were being delivered by Decepticons. After that Rhea stopped taking them, and eventually left the city for safer climes.

"So, what - the big sister made a deal to become a Con, as long as they provided Arcee with food and basic necessities?" Warpath asked, incredulous.

"It makes sense," Blurr said softly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "If it was just me taking care of my little brother, I'd have taken up an offer like that in a heartbeat, no matter who was making it."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again - Decepticons are monsters for using people's families against them." Springer growled in as dark a tone as any of the others had ever heard him use.

It was right then that Arcee entered the mess hall, slowly getting her evening meal and then haltingly approaching her fellow trainees. The girl paused when she reached their table, trepidation clear on her face. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, 'Cee. Pull up a seat." Hank offered her a smile, which she returned uneasily. Silence reigned over the table for a while, until Cliffjumper finally broke it by slapping his hand down.

"How quiet do you want to keep this, Rhea?" He asked in a no-nonsense voice. All of the others stared at him.

"...What do you mean, Cliff?"

"I mean, do you want to let anyone else know or not? Because you can bet your rifle we'll go along with whatever you say." Arcee lost some of her tension as the other trainees all voiced their agreement.

"Well... Maybe we can let Prime and a few of the officers know, add it to the proper files, but other than that..."

"We'll keep it quiet." Hank promised. "But, just to warn you, I think Bee might go reading the Autobot files when he's bored. How else would the kid have already known what I was talking about this morning?"

"What were you talking about?" Blurr asked. Arcee and Hank exchanged a glance, which ended when the former smirked.

"You'll have to take that up with Ironhide." She informed the teen, finally back to her usual self.

 _A/N: Much thanks to the folks still reading this, next update will be March 8th! I'll be including a list of Autobots with it, with both their real and codenames, just to make things a bit simpler on y'all. Oh, and anyone figure out who the pilot of the black and purple copter was before I got to that reveal?_

 _-Triscribe_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Was just doing some browsing of my stories tonight, and realized to my horror I'd never gotten this thing posted. So, uh, sorry! Please enjoy, but realize I probably won't come back to this story for a while yet..._

Handy-Dandy Name Guide:

Hank Veer - Hot Rod

Spencer Ringer - Springer

Rhea Curtis - Arcee

Barry Fleet - Blurr

Trenton Hepley - Cliffjumper

Warren Palomine - Warpath

Kyle Kup

Skylar Dawning - Skyfire

Travis Hepley - Ironhide

Niko Jacoby - Bluestreak

Josh le Rue - Jazz

Rafferty Paean - Ratchet

Bumblebee

Aiden Spiro - First Aid

Sly Smith - Smokescreen

Prescott Hunter - Prowl

Owen Priam - Optimus Prime

Bolton Grey - Silverbolt

Coming up:

Jackson Wheeler - Wheeljack

Percival Torrel - Perceptor

Mic Hearth - Inferno

Frieda Solareen - Firestar

Harrison Spiro - Hot Spot

Sullivan Spiro - Streetwise

Geronimo Spiro - Groove

Sam Kall - Sunstreaker

Sid Kall - Sideswipe

Micheal Kall - Red Alert

Amy Radburn - Air Raid

Shawn Grey - Slingshot

Devin Sojon - Skydive

Freddy Flinter - Fireflight

Bernadette Spiro - Blades

Preston Glover - Powerglide

Trevor Bornan - Trailbreaker

Ted Tailor - Tracks

Hob MacDonald - Hoist

Abigail Gruten - Grapple

Gerald O'Brian - Gears

Marian Wisp - Mirage

Casey Wolfe - Hound

Billy Sternin - Blaster

Reyna Cassetti - Rewind

Jager Cassetti - Steeljaw

Ramira Cassetti - Ramhorn

Eli Cassetti - Eject

Chuck Moss - Cosmos

Elisa Tran-Priam - Elita One

Cynthia Hepley - Chromia

Luna Challenger - Moonracer

Markus Priam - Ultra Magnus

Bruce Strom - Bulkhead

Haley Fir - Huffer

Luke Machino - Brawn

Wally Fleet - Wheelie

Charlie Winters - Windcharger

Herbert Wave - Beachcomber

Natalie Wave - Nautica

Sherman Saltis - Seaspray

Grimlock

Swoop

Snarl

Slag

Sludge

Steven Oakley - Omega Supreme

Garfield Wicker - Wreck-Gar

Alphius Tran - Alpha Trion

67 in total. And with exception of my last few portraits to color, they're all posted to my DeviantArt account, where I also go by the name Triscribe.

Klik (Second)

Breem (Minute) 100 kliks

Joor (Hour) 60 breems

Orn (Day) 30 joors - 15 for a day cycle, 15 for a night cycle

Deca-orn (Week) 10 orns

Groon (Month) 3 deca-orns/30 orns

Vorn (Year) 14 groons/42 decaorns/420 orns

Chapter 4 - Volatile

"I'm so glad you guys are finally starting the demolitions unit." Wheeljack said cheerfully as he led the six trainees out to where his lab/bunker was located at the edge of the valley. "I always have such fun explaining about the various materials we use, and of course it's of the utmost importance to be able to observe your target and determine where the best weak points to place the explosives are..."

"Isn't this the guy that Jazz said caused things to blow up no matter how supposedly non-volatile they were?" Springer whispered.

"Yeah, I think so." Hank muttered back. "Why?"

"Is he really the best person to be teaching us how to handle explosive compounds, then, if there's a good chance he could cause them to go off at any time?"

His friend paused for half a beat. "Fair point. Let's keep the cousins in between us and the bombs, then."

"Oh, _brilliant_ strategy." Hank had to dodge the swat that Springer aimed at him. "I can totally see why they decided that you were officer material."

"Really? And here I thought it was my charms and good looks." The pair continued to quietly banter all the way up to the door of the bunker, which Wheeljack led the group of trainees through.

"I hope it goes without saying, but please make sure you don't touch anything unless we say so." The engineer cheerfully told them, as he worked his way around to crowded tables to an equally disorganized series of shelving units in the back of the main room. "Hey Percy! I've got the newcomers out here!"

"Ah." A voice returned flatly from one of the doors leading to a personal workspace. "Have they come to finally help you arrange your clutter into some form of order?"

"Clutter! I'll have you know that I'm perfectly aware of where every item is in this place! Now, where did I put those thermite bombs..."

"Of course you are," the spectacled scientist appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag and looking bemusedly at his companion. "That's why you know the devices you are looking for are, in fact, on the opposite shelf."

Wheeljack turned around, and let out a cheer of triumph when he came nose to label with the bombs. "Thanks Perce! Dunno what I'd do without you."

"Die a fiery death with no warning, and condemn others to the same fate as you never label or organize your creations."

"True." The engineer never lost his grin during this morbid agreement, a fact that had Hank and Springer exchanging nervous looks.

Evidently, they weren't the only nervous ones either, as Blurr was trying to subtly edge away as Wheeljack got closer and closer with his box of explosives. "So, um, when you say 'die a fiery death with no warning,' does that just apply to working in here-or-are-we-going-to-have-to- be-really-careful-out-there-too?" Cliffjumper blinked at the speed at which the younger teen launched out his words.

"Nah, we've got nothing to worry about with these!" Wheeljack either didn't notice or ignored the derisive snort Perceptor unleashed. "Now let's get going!"

Reluctantly, the recruits followed him back out and around the bunker to a large section of scorched ground, devoid of any plant life whatsoever. At the far end of it were some targets looking rather worse for wear, while much closer were a line of blast shields in much the same condition.

"Now," Wheeljack gestured for them all to come listen as he set the box down. "The first thing to bear in mind when handling sensitive material is safety. I know I've got a bit of a reputation to the contrary, but it's true." He began to carefully pull out six bombs.

"Uh, I hate to be rude, but shouldn't we be learning about these things first and _then_ using them?" Springer asked nervously, but the engineer waved the question off.

"I tend to be one of those 'learning on the job' type of guys." He informed them. "So! Everybody take a bomb, come on now, don't be shy. I'll show you how to activate them, and then it's just a matter of getting the timing right for the the throw and release-"

"Still takin' the quick 'n dirty method of teachin' your students, so I see." A cheerful voice called out from further down the slope. Nearly as one, the recruits all turned to look, and quickly spotted the group of five people approaching them.

Meanwhile, Wheeljack groaned. "Aw, not the party poopers again."

Hank noted that three of the newcomers had firefighting gear - an older man and younger woman with similar features along with a lighter skinned guy - while the other two had an assortment of tools as though ready to launch themselves into any emergency.

"Hi there, folks!" The tall fellow who'd announced their presence a moment before grinned. "Hope we weren't interruptin' anything."

"Of course you were, but when's that ever stopped you, 'Ferno?" Wheeljack replied, getting to his feet.

"Very rarely, I'll admit."

"Hn. Trainees, these here are Inferno and his niece Firestar, our top firefighters. And these three ugly mugs you'll know as Aid and Blades' big brothers: Hot Spot, Streetwise and Groove."

"'Sup?" The shortest of the sibling trio said, the one who looked most like First Aid. "Thought you guys might feel a bit better 'bout this lesson if there were some Rescue Crew members on hand - just in case, of course."

"Of course," Wheeljack said dryly, but not without a hint of amusement.

"Aw, we're not here 'cause we think _you_ need the supervision, 'Jack, it's just fer the new lot's peace of mind." Firestar smiled at him. "Personally, I'd rather be spending our first orn of th' groon back in the Valley relaxin' or spendin' some time with the Twins-"

"Why you went and made friends with them I will never understand." Inferno shook his head.

"I could say th' exact same thing about you and Red, y'know." His niece retorted, which caused the other three to snicker. The man just took it good-naturedly, and gestured for Wheeljack to continue with his demonstration.

"Well! As I was saying, everyone go ahead and take a bomb..."

-HF-ST-

When the six recruits dragged themselves into the mess hall for lunch that orn, Jazz took one look at them and burst out laughing. From head to toe, each trainee was covered in a messy array of soot and scorch marks, what skin they had exposed (mostly that of their faces) distinctly singed. Even worse was the way each of them were still damp from the firefighters' help when things got a little out of control - Warpath was especially drenched, since being the biggest also meant he was the most likely of them to accidentally catch fire.

Ratchet's reaction was a little more appreciated. He saw the state of the trainees, and immediately hauled aft out of the hall to go yell at Wheeljack.

"Schedule says we don't have anything else for this afternoon, right?" Cliffjumper groaned as he dropped into a chair.

"Right," Arcee responded, equally exhausted from the stressful morning. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna hit the showers and then take a nap."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Springer agreed. "After we eat, though." And that was the exact sequence of events that the youths took, all except Hank. He went along so far as to eat his lunch and shower, but after that he headed off to the training center for a sparring session he had scheduled with Bee.

Upon arriving at the building, though, he was startled to find the irritated looking twelve vorn old standing just inside the entrance with his arms crossed, glaring at a pair of young men fighting one another on the main mat. Hank's eyebrows rose as he witnessed what looked to be a truly vicious battle, and had he not known the two were brothers he'd have felt obligated to step in and put a stop to it before someone got seriously hurt.

"I take it the Twins have filched our usual time slot." He said to the torqued off kid beside him. Bee nodded furiously, miming tapping at a watch as if one were on his bare wrist. "Well... Why don't we go ahead and do something to convince them to move on?"

Bumblebee blinked and looked up and Hank's smirk, an identical one slowly appearing appearing on his own face.

The first that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker knew of their new opponents was when a length of wire cord suddenly wrapped itself around the ankles of the twin with gold streaks in his black mane, pulling his legs out from under him. A mere second later, the twin with the tips of his hair dyed bright red stumbled forward and fell to his hands and knees with the addition of a Bee-sized weight landing upon his back.

"Hey! What gives?" Sideswipe protested, as his brother set about undoing the cord around his feet. Bumblebee shoved a datapad into the startled twin's face.

 _You're time's up. Shoo._

Laughing, Sides got back up, the blonde kid still clinging to him like a limpet. "Seriously? What, you want the place to yourself so you can practice those dinky little martial arts moves?"

"Actually, _we_ need the space to spar." Hank mentioned as he stepped forward to where the brothers could see him.

Sunstreaker snorted in disdain. "You're taking lessons from the pipsqueak? Isn't that a tad ridiculous even for you, Hot Rod?"

"Yeah! He barely even knows any lethal stuff!" The other twin laughed. "You'd be much better off sparring with one of us."

"Uh, thanks, but I'd rather not subject myself to another med bay visit any time soon."

"Aw, the Hatchet's not so bad, at least not once you learn when's a good or bad time for pushing his buttons. And _I'd_ say any trip into his domain would be worth it, to garner even just a _hint_ of sympathy from the lovely Miss Aid." Rolling his eyes, Sunstreaker aimed a kick at his brother's shin, causing Sideswipe to yelp and start hopping about on one foot, which jarred Bee enough that he dropped off.

"You do realize that most of the guys around here now hate us for getting Ratch to instigate that 'no flirting in the med bay' rule, right?"

"Eh, their loss. If they can't work up the courage to flaunt the rules, that's their fault!"

Hank blinked at them. "Wait. _You two_ caused that?"

"Oh, yeah - started out as a bet to see who could get a kiss from First Aid before the other. Then Hatchet found out, and decided to make the med bay off limits to flirting, since that's where she spends most of the orn, and the rest of the time has one or more of her siblings around. Though, those guys aren't _half_ as scary as Ratch, no matter how many punches Blades throws on a daily basis." The twins shared a smug grin as Bee rolled his eyes and Hank slowly shook his head.

"Hey!" Sideswipe suddenly exclaimed. "I've got a great idea - you want to spar, and we don't want to leave just yet, so why don't we do a two on two deal?"

"...Do you mean me and the kid versus you two or-?"

"Nah, may as well make it interesting: one of us on each side along with both of you." Hank didn't even have time to voice his uneasiness with the idea before Bee was nodding in agreement. He took a moment to tap out a quick message and show it to the trainee.

 _You're getting good enough now I want to see how you do against someone your own size._

"Oh. Okay, then. I guess." Reluctantly, Hank took his usual stance on one side of the mat, alongside a bored looking Sunstreaker.

"Just stay out of my way, rookie." The buffer youth snorted, as Sides gave the signal to start.

-HF-ST-

A couple joors later, the med bay doors slid open, prompting both Ratchet and First Aid to turn towards them. Bumblebee was standing at the threshold, hands clasped behind his back and gaze glued to the floor. Even so, the two medical staff members could see the marks on his skin and clothes indicating a recent scuffle - or sparring session.

"Alright," Ratchet sighed. "Who else was involved, and where are the slaggers hiding?" The kid pointed off to the right, towards the building's northern entrance before stepping aside so that the irritated doctor could storm out. Bee waited a few moments, then looked in the opposite direction and made a _hurry up_ gesture. First Aid watched, eyebrow raised, as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker quickly shuffled in, supporting a groggy Hot Rod between them.

"This was _so_ not our fault." Sides hastily said as the two of them deposited their charge on a berth.

"Suuure it wasn't." The medical apprentice snickered. "Now go on, get, before my boss shows back up. Swing by here tonight just after sunset and I'll patch up whatever bumps and bruises you two have."

"You aren't gonna try and treat us now?" Sideswipe pulled out his wounded puppy-dog face, which disappeared just as fast when Aid brandished a wrench at him.

"Consider it your punishment for getting _him_ back in here so soon. Now, scoot!" The red clothed twin went ahead on out the door that Bee continued to hold open, but Sunny paused long enough to deliver a light kiss to First Aid's cheek first before he bolted as well.

Seeing the dopey smile the medic had gained, Bumblebee sighed and took himself over to another berth to wait for Ratchet's inevitable return.

-HF-ST-

It wasn't until well after dinner that Hank shuffled into the trainee's barracks and flopped face first onto his bed. Across the aisle, Arcee and Springer looked up from their card game to blink at him.

"Where the slag have you been?" The girl asked. She snorted when Hank just gave an indistinguishable mutter against the mattress.

"Let me guess - rough sparring session with Bee?" Springer's question got the other boy to lift his head with a grimace.

"Worse. The Twins joined us."

The other trainees winced automatically. "What in the name of Primus made you agree to go up against _them?"_ Arcee questioned him.

"Was me 'n Sunny against Bee 'n Sides. _Not_ my idea. Got my aft kicked six ways t' Solisday, and that was _before_ Ratchet tore into me in the med bay." Carefully, the youth readjusted his position on the bed to properly face his friends. "We've got another session with Wheeljack tomorrow."

"Yes."

"It's mandatory."

"Also yes."

"...Could you two tell Ironhide I'm sick while I hide here?"

"Yeah, no, you want to play hookie, you do it on your own."

"Pleeease, Rhea? Spence?"

Sensing an incoming plead, Springer promptly clapped a hand over his eyes. "Don't look, Arcee. He's been taking begging lessons from Bumblebee, I swear. Whatever you do, don't look!"

The girl rolled her eyes, and deliberately turned to see just what pitiful expression Hank tried to use on her. It was... potent, to say the least, but she resisted.

"I mean it, Roddy, if you want to skip out then it's going to be a solo mission." Groaning in equal parts pain and misery, Hank returned to his face-down position.

"Fiiiine."

When the next morning came along, though, the youth forced himself up with the others. He was still stiff and sore as the Pit, but argued with his inner whiney voice that it wasn't nearly as bad as the orn before and that he could muscle onwards. If nothing else, he'd last through Wheeljack's presentation, and then collapse.

As was apparently becoming the norm, though, Primus decided to throw something down from the heavens _just_ to mess with Hank's plans. The six trainees were just starting the hike up the slope to the engineer's bunker when the building shuddered and starting spewing out smoke.

"Seriously?" Hank grumbled, before leading the others in a dash towards the bunker.

"Cliff, 'Path, the door!"

"On it!" Together, the cousins grabbed the side of the heavy metal door and heaved back, forcing it open barely wide enough for Hank, Blurr and Arcee to slip inside.

"Wheeljack! Perceptor!" Barely able to see through the acrid smoke, the trio had to feel their way through the maze of tables towards the rear rooms.

"Here," a soft voice coughed out, moments before Hank nearly stepped on the scientist lying on the floor. "Jack... Back shelves..."

"Blurr, go find him." Hank ordered as he and Arcee helped Perceptor sit up. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Told him... Countless times... Organize..." The man wheezed out, dislodging some of the grey soot that covered him from head to toe.

"Can you drag him out of here?" As soon as Arcee nodded, Hank got her and the older scientist situated on their way to the door, then moved in the direction Blurr had headed.

"I can't find him, Hot Rod!" The teen called out from somewhere in the smoke cloud, which was getting thicker by the second - or at least it seemed that way to Hank.

"Keep looking- searching, whatever! He's probably somewhere close to the floor-" A cough overtook the rest of his words, and the trainee paused in his stumbling to stomp out a line of flames trying to climb up one of the tables.

"I've checked the floor, he's not here!" Blurr appeared again out of the smoke, a little more visible thanks to his albino coloring. Both of them tensed when a quiet groan reached their ears. Hank was the first one to look up, squinting towards the ceiling.

"On second thought, maybe the blast threw him upwards. Here, give me a boost." Blurr helped him find one of the remaining upright shelving units, which Hank started scrambling up like his life depended on it. Sure enough, his hand soon found clothed flesh rather than hard metal.

"Wheeljack, hey, you alive in there?" He checked as much of the engineer as he could feel, since the smoke was much more concentrated higher up.

"Mmmmaybe." The man slurred. "Mm thinkin' th' plastique f'r t'day's demo wassa lil' unstable..."

"Whatever you say, dude." Hank grunted, straining to haul the bigger man off of the shelf where he'd ended up without dropping him straight to the floor. The entire unit wobbled slightly, causing him to stiffen and panic. "Blurr, can you hold this thing steady?!"

"Trying!" The teen hollered back. Gritting his teeth, Hank pulled Wheeljack across one of his shoulders, keeping an iron grip on the engineer as he started to slowly climb down. He'd only made it a couple of shelves, though, when the unit finally gave way and began to tip over sideways.

"Oh FRAG-!" Yelling, Hank tried throwing himself and Wheeljack in a direction where they wouldn't be squashed flat, only to land of something that was definitely _not_ the floor.

"Hey, the heroic rescues are our line of work, I'll have you know!" A familiar voice said from beside his ear. Coughing, Hank tried to peer through the smoke, catching glimpse of Hot Spot's face. "Street, Groove, get these guys out of here." More hands took hold of Hank's shoulders, guiding the trainee through a maze he could no longer see. Next thing he knew, Springer's concerned face was waiting for him at the bunker door.

"Bravery and stupidity, my friend." The Roamer informed him pointedly as he took charge of Hank, allowing Groove to switch to helping his brother carry the unconscious engineer. "You seriously do not know the difference."

"I'm not arguing." Hank said, before he was forced to focus on the pain of his body trying to cough out all the smoke he'd inhaled. Distantly, he picked up on Ratchet berating Wheeljack's prone form for endangering not only himself and Perceptor once again, but also the new trainees.

"Looking forward to being in the Hatchet's bay for the second time in as many orns?" Springer snickered even as Hank glared balefully at him. The two of them wound up sitting on a patch of grass a little ways apart from the bunker, able to see as Inferno and Hot Spot reemerged, declaring the fire to be out. Other Autobots were standing around the area to watch, though they quickly cleared a path for the stretchers taking Perceptor and Wheeljack to the medical bay. It was then that First Aid appeared in front of the two trainees.

"Can you walk, or do you need a stretcher too, Hot Rod?" She asked him.

"Ah, no, I'm fine. Just need someone to lean on, right Spring?" At the other youth's nod, Aid relaxed slightly.

"Good. Come on, then, I need to have you and the others back at the bay by the time my boss finishes with the tech-heads, or we'll all be in for it."

By the time their group made it to the Hatchet's domain, Hank was audibly wheezing. Arcee and Blurr, by contrast, were coughing a fair amount, but were able to still walk on their own. First Aid got each of them a soothing drink mixed with some sort of concoction to help ease the smoke damage, before Ratchet appeared again to do his own examination. Sadly (in Hank's opinion), his friends were deemed well enough to return to their rooms with a bottle each of the drink, while he was to be held in the bay for an orn of observation.

"I realize we're lacking a lot of the basic comforts around here," he muttered to Aid at one point as she brought him another dose of the medicine. "But these medical berths take 'uncomfortable' to a whole new level."

All he got was a sympathetic smile.

-HF-ST-

At some point in the night cycle, Hank was awoken by low voices in the bay.

"...can't believe you're making such a fuss over this."

"C'mon, Aid, I don't ask you for much, unlike my idiot brother. Just hold it for a little while longer, okay?"

"Fine. But you owe me, Samuel Kall!"

Confused, Hank blinked and turned his head in the direction the conversation was coming from. The first thing he spotted was Sunstreaker, perched on the end of a berth with something in his hands. Standing directly in front of him, illuminated by the dim lighting, was First Aid. The medic had her hands on her hips in a pose of annoyance, but she was smiling softly. It was then that Hank realized Sunny was drawing on a sketchpad. He watched the two of them for a while, the only sound being that of Sunstreaker's pencil scratching over the paper.

Eventually, the artist finished his drawing and held it up for inspection. From his angle, Hank was only able to see Aid's reaction: first awe, then bemusement, followed by fake annoyance.

"You're a total fraud of a portraitist, you know that?" She said dryly. "There's no way I'm this pretty." In answer, Sunny set the sketchpad on the berth behind him, then stood and pulled the girl into a deep kiss. Hank promptly shut his eyes and continued to pretend to be asleep.

-HF-ST-

"Nah. I don't believe it." Springer stated, returning to folding his laundry. Hank gaped at his friend.

"What? Why not?"

"C'mon, Roddy, one of the Valley's scariest warriors in a relationship with the only true pacifist here? Next you'll be saying Unicron is secretly a goddess of flowers in disguise." His retort was met by a wet sock flung in the youth's face.

"You think I could make something like that up?" Hank demanded.

"No, but I bet you could _dream_ something like that up while sleeping in the med bay, dosed on who knows what drugs." Springer pointed out. He was forced to duck another sock.

"Just you wait," the other youth pointed sternly at him. "They're clearly being sneaky about it, but sooner or later you'll see some sign of it, and then-"

"Hot Rod!" Jumping in surprise, both of them turned to see Ironhide in the doorway of the laundry room. "Red Alert wants to speak to you in the security center."

"What about?" His question was met with a raised eyebrow.

"Why the frag should I know? That man does things the rest of us never understand - now git goin', y' can come git yer clothes later." Resisting the urge to sigh, Hank slammed the door on the dryer and headed off to where the base's half-insane Security Director apparently had something highly urgent to talk to him about.

When he got there, the real reason was so absurd Hank nearly fell over from shock.

"Y-you- they- _what?!"_ Red Alert didn't even bother to look at him, continuing to gaze intently at the various screens and readouts set up on the wall around his desk.

"I said, I would appreciate it if you didn't go spreading rumors about my brother's relationship with First Aid." The man spoke in a mild tone, as if they were discussing something as harmless as the weather. "For all his faults, I am still responsible for Sunstreaker's safety, and I'd rather he wasn't killed by an enraged Ratchet - it's far too likely that will be what does Sideswipe in one of these orns."

Hank barely managed to nod his agreement.

"Good. It should also bear mentioning, that if Sunstreaker were to become aware you witnessed the softer side he presents around Aid, he will drag you onto the sparring mats and not stop until you become incapable of ever mentioning it to anyone again." With this statement, Red turned to look Hank full in the eyes, so that the young man could see how serious he was.

"Got it sir!" As soon as the undignified squeak was uttered, Red Alert motioned for him to leave, and Hank wasn't ashamed to say he bolted like a glitch-mouse. That evening, when Springer tried to bring up what had happened with the Security Director, his friend was only willing to say one thing:

"Every single officer in this place is slagging _insane_."


End file.
